Transcriber's note

Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. Minor punctuationerrors have been corrected without notice. Typographical errors havebeen corrected, and they are listed at the end of this book. 

 MASTERPIECES OF MYSTERY

 Masterpieces of Mystery

 _In Four Volumes_

 DETECTIVE STORIES

 Edited by Joseph Lewis French

 Garden City New York Doubleday, Page & Company 1922

 COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N. Y. 

NOTE

The Editor desires especially to acknowledge assistance in granting theuse of original material, and for helpful advice and suggestion, toProfessor Brander Matthews of Columbia University, to Mrs. AnnaKatherine Green Rohlfs, to Cleveland Moffett, to Arthur Reeve, creatorof "Craig Kennedy, " to Wilbur Daniel Steele, to Ralph Adams Cram, toChester Bailey Fernald, to Brian Brown, to Mrs. Lillian M. Robins of thepublisher's office, and to Charles E. Farrington of the Brooklyn PublicLibrary. 

FOREWORD

The honour of founding the modern detective story belongs to an Americanwriter. Such tales as "The Purloined Letter" and "The Murders in the RueMorgue" still stand unrivalled. 

We in America no more than the world of letters at large, did notreadily realize what Poe had done when he created Auguste Dupin--theprototype of Sherlock Holmes _et genus omnes_, up to the present hour. On Poe's work is built the whole school of French detective storywriters. Conan Doyle derived his inspiration from them in turn, and ourAmerican writers of to-day are helped from both French and Englishsources. It is rare enough to find the detective in fiction even to-day, however, who is not lacking in one supreme quality, --scientificimagination. Auguste Dupin had it. Dickens, had he lived a short timelonger, might have turned his genius in this direction. The last thinghe wrote was the "Mystery of Edwin Drood, " the mystery of which is stillunravelled. I have heard the opinion expressed by an eminent livingwriter that had Dickens' life been prolonged he would probably havebecome the greatest master of the detective story, except Poe. 

The detective story heretofore has been based upon one of two methods:analysis or deduction. The former was Poe's, to take the typicalexample; the latter is Conan Doyle's. Of late the discoveries of sciencehave been brought into play in this field of fiction with notableresults. The most prominent of such innovators, indeed the first one, isArthur Reeve, an American writer, whose "Black Hand" will be found inthis collection; which has endeavoured within its limited space to coverthe field from the start--the detective story--wholly the outgrowth ofthe more highly developed police methods which have sprung into beingwithin little more than half a century, being only so old. 

JOSEPH LEWIS FRENCH. 

 CONTENTS

 PAGE

 I. THE PURLOINED LETTER 3 _Edgar Allan Poe_

 II. THE BLACK HAND 33 _Arthur B. Reeve_

 III. THE BITER BIT 64 _Wilkie Collins_

 IV. MISSING: PAGE THIRTEEN 108 _Anna Katherine Green_

 V. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA 164 _A. Conan Doyle_

 VI. THE ROPE OF FEAR 200 _Mary E. And Thomas W. Hanshew_

 VII. THE SAFETY MATCH 229 _Anton Chekhov_

 VIII. SOME SCOTLAND YARD STORIES 261 _Sir Robert Anderson_

MASTERPIECES OF MYSTERY

Masterpieces of Mystery

_DETECTIVE STORIES_

THE PURLOINED LETTER

EDGAR ALLAN POE

 Nil sapientiæ odiosius acumine nimio. --SENECA. 

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18--, I wasenjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and meerschaum, in companywith my friend, C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, orbook-closet, _au troisième_, No. 33 Rue Dunôt, Faubourg St. Germain. Forone hour at least we had maintained a profound silence; while each, toany casual observer, might have seemed intently and exclusively occupiedwith the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of thechamber. For myself, however, I was mentally discussing certain topicswhich had formed matter for conversation between us at an earlier periodof the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue and the mysteryattending the murder of Marie Roget. I looked upon it, therefore, assomething of a coincidence, when the door of our apartment was thrownopen and admitted our old acquaintance, Monsieur G----, the Prefect ofthe Parisian police. 

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much of theentertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we had not seenhim for several years. We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin nowarose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, withoutdoing so, upon G----'s saying that he had called to consult us, orrather to ask the opinion of my friend, about some official businesswhich had occasioned a great deal of trouble. 

"If it is any point requiring reflection, " observed Dupin, as he forboreto enkindle the wick, "we shall examine it to better purpose in thedark. "

"That is another of your odd notions, " said the Prefect, who had thefashion of calling everything "odd" that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of "oddities. "

"Very true, " said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a pipe androlled toward him a comfortable chair. 

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Nothing more in theassassination way, I hope?"

"Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is verysimple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it sufficientlywell ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like to hear the detailsof it, because it is so excessively odd. "

"Simple and odd?" said Dupin. 

"Why, yes; and not exactly that either. The fact is, we have all been agood deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, and yet baffles usaltogether. "

"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you atfault, " said my friend. 

"What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, laughing heartily. 

"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain, " said Dupin. 

"Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?"

"A little too self-evident. "

"Ha! ha! ha!--ha! ha! ha!--ho! ho! ho!" roared our visitor, profoundlyamused. "Oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!"

"And what, after all, is the matter on hand?" I asked. 

"Why, I will tell you, " replied the Prefect, as he gave a long, steady, and contemplative puff and settled himself in his chair, --"I will tellyou in a few words; but, before I begin, let me caution you that this isan affair demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I should mostprobably lose the position I now hold were it known that I confided itto anyone. "

"Proceed, " said I. 

"Or not, " said Dupin. 

"Well, then; I have received personal information, from a very highquarter, that a certain document of the last importance has beenpurloined from the royal apartments. The individual who purloined it isknown--this beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known, also, that it still remains in his possession. "

"How is this known?" asked Dupin. 

"It is clearly inferred, " replied the Prefect, "from the nature of thedocument and from the non-appearance of certain results which would atonce arise from its passing out of the robber's possession, that is tosay, from his employing it as he must design in the end to employ it. "

"Be a little more explicit, " I said. 

"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper gives its holder acertain power in a certain quarter where such power is immenselyvaluable. " The Prefect was fond of the cant of diplomacy. 

"Still I do not quite understand, " said Dupin. 

"No? Well; the disclosure of the document to a third person, who shallbe nameless, would bring in question the honour of a personage of mostexalted station; and this fact gives the holder of the document anascendency over the illustrious personage whose honour and peace are sojeopardized. "

"But this ascendency, " I interposed, "would depend upon the robber'sknowledge of the loser's knowledge of the robber. Who would dare--"

"The thief, " said G----, "is the Minister D----, who dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those becoming a man. The method of thetheft was not less ingenious than bold. The document in question, --aletter, to be frank, --had been received by the personage robbed whilealone in the royal boudoir. During its perusal she was suddenlyinterrupted by the entrance of the other exalted personage from whomespecially it was her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and vainendeavour to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, open asit was, upon a table. The address, however, was uppermost, and, thecontents thus unexposed, the letter escaped notice. At this junctureenters the Minister D----. His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the confusion of thepersonage addressed, and fathoms her secret. After some businesstransactions, hurried through in his ordinary manner, he produces aletter somewhat similar to the one in question, opens it, pretends toread it, and then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. Againhe converses for some fifteen minutes upon the public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also from the table the letter to which he hadno claim. Its rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared not callattention to the act, in the presence of the third personage, who stoodat her elbow. The Minister decamped, leaving his own letter, one of noimportance, upon the table. "

"Here, then, " said Dupin to me, "you have precisely what you demand tomake the ascendency complete, the robber's knowledge of the loser'sknowledge of the robber. "

"Yes, " replied the Prefect; "and the power thus attained has, for somemonths past, been wielded, for political purposes, to a very dangerousextent. The personage robbed is more thoroughly convinced every day ofthe necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, cannot bedone openly. In fine, driven to despair, she has committed the matter tome. "

"Than whom, " said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind of smoke, "no moresagacious agent could, I suppose, be desired or even imagined. "

"You flatter me, " replied the Prefect; "but it is possible that somesuch opinion may have been entertained. "

"It is clear, " said I, "as you observe, that the letter is still in thepossession of the Minister; since it is this possession, and not anyemployment of the letter, which bestows the power. With the employmentthe power departs. "

"True, " said G----; "and upon this conviction I proceeded. My first carewas to make thorough search of the Minister's hotel; and here my chiefembarrassment lay in the necessity of searching without his knowledge. Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which would resultfrom giving him reason to suspect our design. "

"But, " said I, "you are quite _au fait_ in these investigations. TheParisian police have done this thing often before. "

"Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The habits of theMinister gave me, too, a great advantage. He is frequently absent fromhome all night. His servants are by no means numerous. They sleep at adistance from their master's apartment, and, being chiefly Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I have keys, as you know, with which I can openany chamber or cabinet in Paris. For three months a night has notpassed, during the greater part of which I have not been engaged, personally, in ransacking the D---- Hotel. My honour is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward is enormous. So I did not abandonthe search until I had become fully satisfied that the thief is a moreastute man than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every nook andcorner of the premises in which it is possible that the paper can beconcealed. "

"But is it not possible, " I suggested, "that although the letter may bein possession of the Minister, as it unquestionably is, he may haveconcealed it elsewhere than upon his own premises?"

"This is barely possible, " said Dupin. "The present peculiar conditionof affairs at court, and especially of those intrigues in which D---- isknown to be involved, would render the instant availability of thedocument, its susceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice, apoint of nearly equal importance with its possession. "

"Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. 

"That is to say, of being destroyed, " said Dupin. 

"True, " I observed; "the paper is clearly, then, upon the premises. Asfor its being upon the person of the minister, we may consider that asout of the question. "

"Entirely, " said the Prefect. "He has been twice waylaid, as if byfootpads, and his person rigidly searched under my own inspection. "

"You might have spared yourself this trouble, " said Dupin. "D----, Ipresume, is not altogether a fool, and, if not, must have anticipatedthese waylayings, as a matter of course. "

"Not altogether a fool, " said G----, "but then he is a poet, which I taketo be only one remove from a fool. "

"True, " said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff from hismeerschaum, "although I have been guilty of certain doggerel myself. "

"Suppose you detail, " said I, "the particulars of your search. "

"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched everywhere. I havehad long experience in these affairs. I took the entire building, roomby room; devoting the nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the furniture of each apartment. We opened every possible drawer;and I presume you know that, to a properly trained police-agent, such athing as a 'secret' drawer is impossible. Any man is a dolt who permitsa 'secret' drawer to escape him in a search of this kind. The thing isso plain. There is a certain amount of bulk, of space, to be accountedfor in every cabinet. Then we have accurate rules. The fiftieth part ofa line could not escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. Thecushions we probed with the fine long needles you have seen me employ. From the tables we removed the tops. "

"Why so?"

"Sometimes the top of a table or other similarly arranged piece offurniture is removed by the person wishing to conceal an article; thenthe leg is excavated, the article deposited within the cavity, and thetop replaced. The bottoms and tops of bedposts are employed in the sameway. "

"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" I asked. 

"By no means, if, when the article is deposited, a sufficient wadding ofcotton be placed around it. Besides, in our case, we were obliged toproceed without noise. "

"But you could not have removed, you could not have taken to pieces allarticles of furniture in which it would have been possible to make adeposit in the manner you mention. A letter may be compressed into athin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk from a largeknitting-needle, and in this form it might be inserted into the rung ofa chair, for example. You did not take to pieces all the chairs?"

"Certainly not, but we did better: we examined the rungs of every chairin the hotel, and, indeed, the jointings of every description offurniture, by the aid of a most powerful microscope. Had there been anytraces of recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect itinstantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, would have beenas obvious as an apple. Any disorder in the gluing, any unusual gapingin the joints, would have sufficed to insure detection. "

"I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the boards and the plates, and you probed the beds and the bedclothes, as well as the curtains andcarpets. "

"That of course; and when we had absolutely completed every particle ofthe furniture in this way, then we examined the house itself. We dividedits entire surface into compartments, which we numbered, so that nonemight be missed; then we scrutinized each individual square inchthroughout the premises, including the two houses immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as before. "

"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must have had a great dealof trouble. "

"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious. "

"You include the grounds about the houses?"

"All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us comparatively littletrouble. We examined the moss between the bricks and found itundisturbed. "

"You looked among D----'s papers, of course, and into the books of thelibrary?"

"Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we not only opened everybook, but we turned over every leaf in each volume, not contentingourselves with a mere shake, according to the fashion of some of ourpolice officers. We also measured the thickness of every book-cover withthe most accurate measurement, and applied to each the most jealousscrutiny of the microscope. Had any of the bindings been recentlymeddled with, it would have been utterly impossible that the fact shouldhave escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, just from the handsof the binder, we carefully probed, longitudinally, with the needles. "

"You explored the floors beneath the carpets?"

"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet and examined the boards with themicroscope. "

"And the paper on the walls?"

"Yes. "

"You looked into the cellars?"

"We did. "

"Then, " I said, "you have been making a miscalculation, and the letteris not upon the premises, as you suppose. "

"I fear you are right there, " said the Prefect. "And now, Dupin, whatwould you advise me to do?"

"To make a thorough research of the premises. "

"That is absolutely needless, " replied G----. "I am not more sure that Ibreathe than I am that the letter is not at the hotel. "

"I have no better advice to give you, " said Dupin. "You have, of course, an accurate description of the letter?"

"Oh, yes!" and here the Prefect, producing a memorandum-book, proceededto read aloud a minute account of the internal, and especially of theexternal, appearance of the missing document. Soon after finishing theperusal of this description he took his departure, more entirelydepressed in spirits than I had ever known the good gentleman before. 

In about a month afterward he paid us another visit, and found usoccupied very nearly as before. He took a pipe and a chair and enteredinto some ordinary conversation. At length I said:

"Well, but, G----, what of the purloined letter? I presume you have atlast made up your mind that there is no such thing as overreaching theMinister?"

"Confound him! say I--yes; I made the re-examination, however, as Dupinsuggested, but it was all labour lost, as I knew it would be. "

"How much was the reward offered, did you say?" asked Dupin. 

"Why, a very great deal, a very liberal reward; I don't like to say howmuch, precisely; but one thing I will say, --that I wouldn't mind givingmy individual check for fifty thousand francs to anyone who couldobtain me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more and moreimportance every day; and the reward has been lately doubled. If it weretrebled, however, I could do no more than I have done. "

"Why, yes, " said Dupin, drawlingly, between the whiffs of hismeerschaum, "I really--think, G----, you have not exerted yourself--to theutmost in this matter. You might--do a little more, I think, eh?"

"How? in what way?"

"Why--puff, puff--you might--puff, puff--employ counsel in the matter, eh?--puff, puff, puff. Do you remember the story they tell ofAbernethy?"

"No; hang Abernethy!"

"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon a time, a certain richmiser conceived the design of sponging upon this Abernethy for a medicalopinion. Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in aprivate company, he insinuated his case to the physician as that of animaginary individual. 

"'We will suppose, ' said the miser, 'that his symptoms are such andsuch; now, Doctor, what would you have directed him to take?'

"'Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to be sure. '"

"But, " said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I am perfectly willingto take advice and to pay for it. I would really give fifty thousandfrancs to anyone who would aid me in the matter. "

"In that case, " replied Dupin, opening a drawer and producing acheckbook, "you may as well fill me up a check for the amount mentioned. When you have signed it I will hand you the letter. "

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely thunderstricken. Forsome minutes he remained speechless and motionless, lookingincredulously at my friend with open mouth, and eyes that seemedstarting from their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in somemeasure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and vacant staresfinally filled up and signed a check for fifty thousand francs andhanded it across the table to Dupin. The latter examined it carefullyand deposited it in his pocketbook; then, unlocking an escritoire, tookthence a letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary grasped itin a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a trembling hand, cast a rapidglance at its contents, and then, scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at length unceremoniously from the room and from the housewithout having uttered a syllable since Dupin had requested him to fillup the check. 

When he had gone, my friend entered into some explanations. 

"The Parisian police, " he said, "are exceedingly able in their way. Theyare persevering, ingenious, cunning, and thoroughly versed in theknowledge which their duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, whenG---- detailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the HotelD----, I felt entire confidence in his having made a satisfactoryinvestigation, so far as his labours extended. "

"'So far as his labours extended'?" said I. 

"Yes, " said Dupin. "The measures adopted were not only the best of theirkind, but carried out to absolute perfection. Had the letter beendeposited within the range of their search, these fellows would, beyonda question, have found it. "

I merely laughed, but he seemed quite serious in all that he said. 

"The measures, then, " he continued, "were good in their kind and wellexecuted; their defect lay in their being inapplicable to the case andto the man. A certain set of highly ingenious resources are, with thePrefect, a sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly adapts hisdesigns. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too shallow forthe matter in hand; and many a schoolboy is a better reasoner than he. Iknew one about eight years of age, whose success at guessing in the gameof 'even and odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is simple, and is played with marbles. One player holds in his hand a number ofthese toys and demands of another whether that number is even or odd. Ifthe guess is right, the guesser wins one; if wrong, he loses one. Theboy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. Of course he hadsome principle of guessing; and this lay in mere observation andadmeasurement of the astuteness of his opponents. For example, an arrantsimpleton is his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'Arethey even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'Odd, ' and loses; but upon thesecond trial he wins, for he then says to himself: 'The simpleton hadthem even upon the first trial, and his amount of cunning is justsufficient to make him have them odd upon the second; I will thereforeguess odd;' he guesses odd and wins. Now, with a simpleton a degreeabove the first, he would have reasoned thus: 'This fellow finds that inthe first instance I guessed odd, and in the second he will propose tohimself, upon the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, asdid the first simpleton; but then a second thought will suggest thatthis is too simple a variation, and finally he will decide upon puttingit even as before. I will therefore guess even;'--he guesses even andwins. Now this mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellowstermed 'lucky, '--what, in its last analysis, is it?"

"It is merely, " I said, "an identification of the reasoner's intellectwith that of his opponent. "

"It is, " said Dupin; "and upon inquiring of the boy by what means heeffected the thorough identification in which his success consisted, Ireceived answer as follows: 'When I wish to find out how wise, or howstupid, or how good, or how wicked is anyone, or what are his thoughtsat the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as accurately aspossible, in accordance with the expression of his and then wait to seewhat thoughts or sentiments arise in my mind or heart, as if to matchor correspond with the expression. ' This response of the schoolboy liesat the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has been attributedto Rochefoucauld, to La Bruyère, to Machiavelli, and to Campanella. "

"And the identification, " I said, "of the reasoner's intellect with thatof his opponent depends, if I understand you aright, upon the accuracywith which the opponent's intellect is admeasured. "

"For its practical value it depends upon this, " replied Dupin; "and thePrefect and his cohort fail so frequently, first, by default of thisidentification, and, secondly, by ill-admeasurement, or rather throughnon-admeasurement, of the intellect with which they are engaged. Theyconsider only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching foranything hidden, advert only to the modes in which they would havehidden it. They are right in this much, that their own ingenuity is afaithful representative of that of the mass; but when the cunning of theindividual felon is diverse in character from their own the felon foilsthem, of course. This always happens when it is above their own, andvery usually when it is below. They have no variation of principle intheir investigations; at best, when urged by some unusual emergency, bysome extraordinary reward, they extend or exaggerate their old modes ofpractice without touching their principles. What, for example, in thiscase of D----, has been done to vary the principle of action? What is allthis boring, and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with themicroscope, and dividing the surface of the building into registeredsquare inches; what is it all but an exaggeration of the application ofthe one principle or set of principles of search, which are based uponthe one set of notions regarding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the long routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you not see hehas taken it for granted that all men proceed to conceal a letter, notexactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a chair-leg, but, at least, in someout-of-the-way hole or corner suggested by the same tenor of thoughtwhich would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored in achair-leg? And do you not see, also, that such _recherchés_ nooks forconcealment are adapted only for ordinary occasions, and would beadopted only by ordinary intellects; for, in all cases of concealment, adisposal of the article concealed, a disposal of it in this _rechercé_manner, is, in the very first instance, presumable and presumed; andthus its discovery depends, not at all upon the acumen, but altogetherupon the mere care, patience, and determination of the seekers; andwhere the case is of importance, or, what amounts to the same thing inthe policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude, the qualities inquestion have never been known to fail. You will now understand what Imeant in suggesting that, had the purloined letter been hidden anywherewithin the limits of the Prefect's examination, --in other words, had theprinciple of its concealment been comprehended within the principles ofthe Prefect, --its discovery would have been a matter altogether beyondquestion. This functionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified; andthe remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that theMinister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as a poet. All foolsare poets; this the Prefect feels; and he is merely guilty of a _nondistributio medii_ in thence inferring that all poets are fools. "

"But is this really the poet?" I asked. "There are two brothers, I know;and both have attained reputation in letters. The Minister, I believe, has written learnedly on the Differential Calculus. He is amathematician and no poet. "

"You are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. As poet andmathematician, he would reason well; as mere mathematician, he could nothave reasoned at all, and thus would have been at the mercy of thePrefect. "

"You surprise me, " I said, "by these opinions, which have beencontradicted by the voice of the world. You do not mean to set at naughtthe well-digested idea of centuries? The mathematical reason has longbeen regarded as the reason _par excellence_. "

"'Il y a à parier, '" replied Dupin, quoting from Chamfort, "'que touteidée publique, toute convention reçue, est une sottise, car elle aconvenue au plus grand nombre. ' The mathematicians, I grant you, havedone their best to promulgate the popular error to which you allude, andwhich is none the less an error for its promulgation as truth. With anart worthy a better cause, for example, they have insinuated the term'analysis' into application to algebra. The French are the originatorsof this particular deception; but if a term is of any importance, ifwords derive any value from applicability, then 'analysis' conveys'algebra' about as much as, in Latin, '_ambitus_' implies 'ambition, ''_religio_' 'religion, ' or '_homines honesti_' a set of honourable men. "

"You have a quarrel on hand, I see, " said I, "with some of thealgebraists of Paris; but proceed. "

"I dispute the availability, and thus the value of that reason which iscultivated in any especial form other than the abstractly logical. Idispute, in particular, the reason educed by mathematical study. Themathematics are the science of form and quantity; mathematical reasoningis merely logic applied to observation upon form and quantity. The greaterror lies in supposing that even the truths of what is called purealgebra are abstract or general truths. And this error is so egregiousthat I am confounded at the universality with which it has beenreceived. Mathematical axioms are not axioms of general truth. What istrue of relation, of form and quantity, is often grossly false in regardto morals, for example. In this latter science it is very usually untruethat the aggregated parts are equal to the whole. In chemistry, also, the axiom fails. In the consideration of motive it fails; for twomotives, each of a given value, have not, necessarily, a value, whenunited, equal to the sum of their values apart. There are numerous othermathematical truths which are only truths within the limits of relation. But the mathematician argues from his finite truths, through habit, asif they were of an absolutely general applicability, as the world indeedimagines them to be. Bryant, in his very learned _Mythology_, mentionsan analogous source of error when he says that 'although the paganfables are not believed, yet we forget ourselves continually and makeinferences from them as existing realities. ' With the algebraists, however, who are pagans themselves, the 'pagan fables' are believed, andthe inferences are made, not so much through lapse of memory as throughan unaccountable addling of the brains. In short, I never yetencountered the mere mathematician who could be trusted out of equalroots, or one who did not clandestinely hold it as a point of his faiththat _x²+px_ was absolutely and unconditionally equal to _q_. Say to oneof these gentlemen, by way of experiment, if you please, that youbelieve occasions may occur where _x²+px_ is not altogether equal to_q_, and, having made him understand what you mean, get out of his reachas speedily as convenient, for, beyond doubt, he will endeavour to knockyou down. 

"I mean to say, " continued Dupin, while I merely laughed at his lastobservations, "that if the Minister had been no more than amathematician, the Prefect would have been under no necessity of givingme this check. I knew him, however, as both mathematician and poet, andmy measures were adapted to his capacity with reference to thecircumstances by which he was surrounded. I knew him as a courtier, too, and as a bold intriguant. Such a man, I considered, could not fail to beaware of the ordinary policial modes of action. He could not have failedto anticipate--and events have proved that he did not fail toanticipate--the waylayings to which he was subjected. He must haveforeseen, I reflected, the secret investigations of his premises. Hisfrequent absences from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefectas certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses to affordopportunity for thorough search to the police, and thus the sooner toimpress them with the conviction, to which G----, in fact, did finallyarrive, --the conviction that the letter was not upon the premises. Ifelt, also, that the whole train of thought, which I was at some painsin detailing to you just now, concerning the invariable principle ofpolicial action in searches for articles concealed, --I felt that thiswhole train of thought would necessarily pass through the mind of theMinister. It would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinarynooks of concealment. He could not, I reflected, be so weak as not tosee that the most intricate and remote recess of his hotel would be asopen as his commonest closets to the eyes, to the probes, to thegimlets, and to the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that hewould be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if notdeliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect laughed when I suggested, upon ourfirst interview, that it was just possible this mystery troubled him somuch on account of its being so very self-evident. "

"Yes, " said I, "I remember his merriment well. I really thought he wouldhave fallen into convulsions. "

"The material world, " continued Dupin, "abounds with very strictanalogies to the immaterial; and thus some colour of truth has beengiven to the rhetorical dogma that metaphor, or simile, may be made tostrengthen an argument as well as to embellish a description. Theprinciple of the _vis inertiæ_, for example, seems to be identical inphysics and metaphysics. It is not more true in the former, that a largebody is with more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and thatits subsequent momentum is commensurate with this difficulty, than itis, in the latter, that intellects of the vaster capacity, while moreforcible, more constant, and more eventful in their movements than thoseof inferior grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more embarrassed, and full of hesitation in the first few steps of their progress. Again:have you ever noticed which of the street signs, over the shop doors, are the most attractive of attention?"

"I have never given the matter a thought, " I said. 

"There is a game of puzzles, " he resumed, "which is played upon a map. One party playing requires another to find a given word, the name oftown, river, state, or empire, --any word, in short, upon the motley andperplexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game generally seeks toembarrass his opponents by giving them the most minutely lettered names;but the adept selects such words as stretch, in large characters, fromone end of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely letteredsigns and placards of the street, escape observation by dint of beingexcessively obvious; and here the physical oversight is preciselyanalogous with the moral inapprehension by which the intellect suffersto pass unnoticed those considerations which are too obtrusively and toopalpably self-evident. But this is a point, it appears, somewhat aboveor beneath the understanding of the Prefect. He never once thought itprobable, or possible, that the Minister had deposited the letterimmediately beneath the nose of the whole world by way of bestpreventing any portion of that world from perceiving it. 

"But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, and discriminatingingenuity of D----; upon the fact that the document must always have beenat hand, if he intended to use it to good purpose; and upon thedecisive evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was not hiddenwithin the limits of that dignitary's ordinary search, the moresatisfied I became that, to conceal this letter, the Minister hadresorted to the comprehensive and sagacious expedient of not attemptingto conceal it at all. 

"Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by accident, at the ministerialhotel. I found D---- at home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and pretending to be in the last extremity of _ennui_. He is, perhaps, the most really energetic human being now alive; but that is only whennobody sees him. 

"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, and lamented thenecessity of the spectacles under cover of which I cautiously andthoroughly surveyed the whole apartment, while seemingly intent onlyupon the conversation of my host. 

"I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly some miscellaneous letters and otherpapers, with one or two musical instruments and a few books. Here, however, after a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing toexcite particular suspicion. 

"At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, fell upon atrumpery filigree card-rack of pasteboard, that hung dangling by a dirtyblue ribbon from a little brass knob just beneath the middle of themantelpiece. In this rack, which had three or four compartments, werefive or six visiting-cards and a solitary letter. This last was muchsoiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in two, across the middle, as ifa design, in the first instance, to tear it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal, bearing the D---- cipher very conspicuously, and was addressed, in adiminutive female hand, to D----" the Minister, himself. It was thrustcarelessly, and even, as it seemed, contemptuously, into one of theuppermost divisions of the rack. 

"No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I concluded it to be thatof which I was in search. To be sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different from the one of which the Prefect had read us sominute a description. Here the seal was large and black, with theD---- cipher, there it was small and red, with the ducal arms of theS---- family. Here, the address, to the Minister, was diminutive andfeminine; there the superscription, to a certain royal personage, wasmarkedly bold and decided; the size alone formed a point ofcorrespondence. But, then, the radicalness of these differences, whichwas excessive: the dirt; the soiled and torn condition of the paper, soinconsistent with the true methodical habits of D----, and so suggestiveof a design to delude the beholder into an idea of the worthlessness ofthe document, --these things, together with the hyperobtrusive situationof this document, full in the view of every visitor, and thus exactly inaccordance with the conclusions to which I had previously arrived; thesethings, I say, were strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one who camewith the intention to suspect. 

"I protracted my visit as long as possible, and, while I maintained amost animated discussion with the Minister upon a topic which I knewwell had never failed to interest and excite him, I kept my attentionreally riveted upon the letter. In this examination, I committed tomemory its external appearance and arrangement in the rack; and alsofell, at length, upon a discovery which set at rest whatever trivialdoubt I might have entertained. In scrutinizing the edges of the paper, I observed them to be more chafed than seemed necessary. They presentedthe broken appearance which is manifested when a stiff paper, havingbeen once folded and pressed with a folder, is refolded in a reverseddirection, in the same creases or edges which had formed the originalfold. This discovery was sufficient. It was clear to me that the letterhad been turned, as a glove, inside out, redirected and resealed. I badethe Minister good-morning, and took my departure at once, leaving a goldsnuff-box upon the table. 

"The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we resumed, quiteeagerly, the conversation of the preceding day. While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of a pistol, was heard immediatelybeneath the windows of the hotel, and was succeeded by a series offearful screams, and the shoutings of a terrified mob. D---- rushed to acasement, threw it open, and looked out. In the meantime I stepped tothe card-rack, took the letter, put it in my pocket, and replaced it bya fac-simile (so far as regards externals) which I had carefullyprepared at my lodgings, imitating the D---- cipher very readily by meansof a seal formed of bread. 

"The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by the franticbehaviour of a man with a musket. He had fired it among a crowd of womenand children. It proved, however, to have been without a ball, and thefellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunkard. When hehad gone, D---- came from the window, whither I had followed himimmediately upon securing the object in view. Soon afterward I bade himfarewell. The pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay. "

"But what purpose had you, " I asked, "in replacing the letter by afac-simile? Would it not have been better, at the first visit, to haveseized it openly and departed?"

"D----, " replied Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a man of nerve. Hishotel, too, is not without attendants devoted to his interests. Had Imade the wild attempt you suggest, I might never have left theministerial presence alive. The good people of Paris might have heard ofme no more. But I had an object apart from these considerations. Youknow my political prepossessions. In this matter, I act as a partisan ofthe lady concerned. For eighteen months the Minister has had her in hispower. She has now him in hers, since, being unaware that the letter isnot in his possession, he will proceed with his exactions as if it was. Thus will he inevitably commit himself, at once, to his politicaldestruction. His downfall, too, will not be more precipitate thanawkward. It is all very well to talk about the _facilis descensusAverni_; but in all kinds of climbing, as Catalani said of singing, itis far more easy to get up than to come down. In the present instance Ihave no sympathy, at least no pity, for him who descends. He is that_monstrum horrendum_, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, however, that I should like very well to know the precise character of histhoughts, when, being defied by her whom the Prefect terms 'a certainpersonage, ' he is reduced to opening the letter which I left for him inthe card-rack. "

"How? did you put anything particular in it?"

"Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave the interior blank; thatwould have been insulting. D----, at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, quite good-humouredly, that I should remember. So, asI knew he would feel some curiosity in regard to the identity of theperson who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity not to give him aclew. He is well acquainted with my MS. , and I just copied into themiddle of the blank sheet the words

 "'--Un dessein si funeste, S'il n'est digne d'Atrée, est digne de Thyeste. '

They are to be found in Crébillon's _Atrée_. "

II

THE BLACK HAND

ARTHUR B. REEVE[A]

Kennedy and I had been dining rather late one evening at Luigi's, alittle Italian restaurant on the lower West Side. We had known the placewell in our student days, and had made a point of visiting it once amonth since, in order to keep in practice in the fine art of gracefullyhandling long shreds of spaghetti. Therefore we did not think it strangewhen the proprietor himself stopped a moment at our table to greet us. Glancing furtively around at the other diners, mostly Italians, hesuddenly leaned over and whispered to Kennedy:

"I have heard of your wonderful detective work, Professor. Could yougive a little advice in the case of a friend of mine?"

"Surely, Luigi. What is the case?" asked Craig, leaning back in hischair. 

Luigi glanced around again apprehensively and lowered his voice. "Not soloud, sir. When you pay your check, go out, walk around WashingtonSquare, and come in at the private entrance. I'll be waiting in thehall. My friend is dining privately upstairs. "

We lingered a while over our chianti, then quietly paid the check anddeparted. 

True to his word, Luigi was waiting for us in the dark hall. With amotion that indicated silence, he led us up the stairs to the secondfloor, and quickly opened a door into what seemed to be a fair-sizedprivate dining-room. A man was pacing the floor nervously. On a tablewas some food, untouched. As the door opened I thought he started as ifin fear, and I am sure his dark face blanched, if only for an instant. Imagine our surprise at seeing Gennaro, the great tenor, with whommerely to have a speaking acquaintance was to argue oneself famous. 

"Oh, it is you, Luigi, " he exclaimed in perfect English, rich andmellow. "And who are these gentlemen?"

Luigi merely replied, "Friends, " in English also, and then dropped offinto a voluble, low-toned explanation in Italian. 

I could see, as we waited, that the same idea had flashed over Kennedy'smind as over my own. It was now three or four days since the papers hadreported the strange kidnapping of Gennaro's five-year-old daughterAdelina, his only child, and the sending of a demand for ten thousanddollars ransom, signed, as usual, with the mystic Black Hand--a name toconjure with in blackmail and extortion. 

As Signor Gennaro advanced toward us, after his short talk with Luigi, almost before the introductions were over, Kennedy anticipated him bysaying: "I understand, Signor, before you ask me. I have read all aboutit in the papers. You want someone to help you catch the criminals whoare holding your little girl. "

"No, no!" exclaimed Gennaro excitedly. "Not that. I want to get mydaughter first. After that, catch them if you can--yes, I should like tohave someone do it. But read this first and tell me what you think ofit. How should I act to get my little Adelina back without harming ahair of her head?" The famous singer drew from a capacious pocketbook adirty, crumpled letter, scrawled on cheap paper. 

Kennedy translated it quickly. It read:

 Honourable sir: Your daughter is in safe hands. But, by the saints, if you give this letter to the police as you did the other, not only she but your family also, someone near to you, will suffer. We will not fail as we did Wednesday. If you want your daughter back, go yourself, alone and without telling a soul, to Enrico Albano's Saturday night at the twelfth hour. You must provide yourself with $10, 000 in bills hidden in Saturday's _Il Progresso Italiano_. In the back room you will see a man sitting alone at a table. He will have a red flower on his coat. You are to say, "A fine opera is 'I Pagliacci. '" If he answers, "Not without Gennaro, " lay the newspaper down on the table. He will pick it up, leaving his own, the _Bolletino_. On the third page you will find written the place where your daughter has been left waiting for you. Go immediately and get her. But, by the God, if you have so much as the shadow of the police near Enrico's your daughter will be sent to you in a box that night. Do not fear to come. We pledge our word to deal fairly if you deal fairly. This is a last warning. Lest you shall forget we will show one other sign of our power to-morrow. 

 LA MANO NERA. 

The end of this letter was decorated with a skull and crossbones, arough drawing of a dagger thrust through a bleeding heart, a coffin, and, under all, a huge black hand. There was no doubt about the type ofletter. It was such as have of late years become increasingly common inall our large cities. 

"You have not showed this to the police, I presume?" asked Kennedy. 

"Naturally not. "

"Are you going Saturday night?"

"I am afraid to go and afraid to stay away, " was the reply, and thevoice of the fifty-thousand-dollars-a-season tenor was as human as thatof a five-dollar-a-week father, for at bottom all men, high or low, areone. 

"'We will not fail as we did Wednesday, '" reread Craig. "What does thatmean?"

Gennaro fumbled in his pocketbook again, and at last drew forth atypewritten letter bearing the letterhead of the Leslie Laboratories, Incorporated. 

"After I received the first threat, " explained Gennaro, "my wife and Iwent from our apartments at the hotel to her father's, the bankerCesare, you know, who lives on Fifth Avenue. I gave the letter to theItalian Squad of the police. The next morning my father-in-law's butlernoticed something peculiar about the milk. He barely touched some of itto his tongue, and he has been violently ill ever since. I at once sentthe milk to the laboratory of my friend Doctor Leslie to have itanalyzed. This letter shows what the household escaped. "

 "My dear Gennaro, " read Kennedy. "The milk submitted to us for examination on the 10th inst. Has been carefully analyzed, and I beg to hand you herewith the result:

 "Specific gravity 1. 036 at 15 degrees Cent. 

 Water 84. 60 per cent. Casein 3. 49 " " Albumin . 56 " " Globulin 1. 32 " " Lactose 5. 08 " " Ash . 72 " " Fat 3. 42 " " Ricinus 1. 19 " "

 "Ricinus is a new and little-known poison derived from the shell of the castor-oil bean. Professor Ehrlich states that one gram of the pure poison will kill 1, 500, 000 guinea pigs. Ricinus was lately isolated by Professor Robert, of Rostock, but is seldom found except in an impure state, though still very deadly. It surpasses strychnine, prussic acid, and other commonly known drugs. I congratulate you and yours on escaping and shall of course respect your wishes absolutely regarding keeping secret this attempt on your life. Believe me, "Very sincerely yours, "C. W. LESLIE. "

As Kennedy handed the letter back, he remarked significantly: "I can seevery readily why you don't care to have the police figure in your case. It has got quite beyond ordinary police methods. "

"And to-morrow, too, they are going to give another sign of theirpower, " groaned Gennaro, sinking into the chair before his untastedfood. 

"You say you have left your hotel?" inquired Kennedy. 

"Yes. My wife insisted that we would be more safely guarded at theresidence of her father, the banker. But we are afraid even there sincethe poison attempt. So I have come here secretly to Luigi, my old friendLuigi, who is preparing food for us, and in a few minutes one ofCesare's automobiles will be here, and I will take the food up toher--sparing no expense or trouble. She is heartbroken. It will killher, Professor Kennedy, if anything happens to our little Adelina. 

"Ah, sir, I am not poor myself. A month's salary at the opera-house, that is what they ask of me. Gladly would I give it, ten thousanddollars--all, if they asked it, of my contract with Signor Cassinelli, the director. But the police--bah!--they are all for catching thevillains. What good will it do me if they catch them and my littleAdelina is returned to me dead? It is all very well for the Anglo-Saxonto talk of justice and the law, but I am--what you call it?--anemotional Latin. I want my little daughter--and at any cost. Catch thevillains afterward--yes. I will pay double then to catch them so thatthey cannot blackmail me again. Only first I want my daughter back. "

"And your father-in-law?"

"My father-in-law, he has been among you long enough to be one of you. He has fought them. He has put up a sign in his banking-house, 'No moneypaid on threats. ' But I say it is foolish. I do not know America as wellas he, but I know this: the police never succeed--the ransom is paidwithout their knowledge, and they very often take the credit. I say, payfirst, then I will swear a righteous vendetta--I will bring the dogs tojustice with the money yet on them. Only show me how, show me how. "

"First of all, " replied Kennedy, "I want you to answer one question, truthfully, without reservation, as to a friend. I am your friend, believe me. Is there any person, a relative or acquaintance of yourselfor your wife or your father-in-law, whom you even have reason to suspectof being capable of extorting money from you in this way? I needn't saythat is the experience of the district attorney's office in the largemajority of cases of this so-called Black Hand. "

"No, " replied the tenor without hesitation. "I know that, and I havethought about it. No, I can think of no one. I know you Americans oftenspeak of the Black Hand as a myth coined originally by a newspaperwriter. Perhaps it has no organization. But, Professor Kennedy, to me itis no myth. What if the real Black Hand is any gang of criminals whochoose to use that convenient name to extort money? Is it the less real?My daughter is gone!"

"Exactly, " agreed Kennedy. "It is not a theory that confronts you. It isa hard, cold fact. I understand that perfectly. What is the address ofthis Albano's?"

Luigi mentioned a number on Mulberry Street, and Kennedy made a note ofit. 

"It is a gambling saloon, " explained Luigi. "Albano is a Neapolitan, aCamorrista, one of my countrymen of whom I am thoroughly ashamed, Professor Kennedy. "

"Do you think this Albano had anything to do with the letter?"

Luigi shrugged his shoulders. 

Just then a big limousine was heard outside. Luigi picked up a hugehamper that was placed in a corner of the room and, followed closely bySignor Gennaro, hurried down to it. As the tenor left us he grasped ourhands in each of his. 

"I have an idea in my mind, " said Craig simply. "I will try to think itout in detail to-night. Where can I find you to-morrow?"

"Come to me at the opera-house in the afternoon, or if you want mesooner at Mr. Cesare's residence. Good night, and a thousand thanks toyou, Professor Kennedy, and to you, also, Mr. Jameson. I trust youabsolutely because Luigi trusts you. "

We sat in the little dining-room until we heard the door of thelimousine bang shut and the car shoot off with the rattle of thechanging gears. 

"One more question, Luigi, " said Craig as the door opened again. "I havenever been on that block in Mulberry Street where this Albano's is. Doyou happen to know any of the shopkeepers on it or near it?"

"I have a cousin who has a drug store on the corner below Albano's, onthe same side of the street. "

"Good! Do you think he would let me use his store for a few minutesSaturday night--of course without any risk to himself?"

"I think I could arrange it. "

"Very well. Then to-morrow, say at nine in the morning, I will stophere, and we will all go over to see him. Good night, Luigi, and manythanks for thinking of me in connection with this case. I've enjoyedSignor Gennaro's singing often enough at the opera to want to render himthis service, and I'm only too glad to be able to be of service to allhonest Italians; that is, if I succeed in carrying out a plan I have inmind. "

A little before nine the following day Kennedy and I dropped intoLuigi's again. Kennedy was carrying a suitcase which he had taken overfrom his laboratory to our rooms the night before. Luigi was waiting forus, and without losing a minute we sallied forth. 

By means of the tortuous twists of streets in old Greenwich village wecame out at last on Bleecker Street and began walking east amid thehurly-burly of races of lower New York. We had not quite reachedMulberry Street when our attention was attracted by a large crowd on oneof the busy corners, held back by a cordon of police who wereendeavouring to keep the people moving with that burly good nature whichthe six-foot Irish policeman displays toward the five-footburden-bearers of southern and eastern Europe who throng New York. 

Apparently, we saw, as we edged up into the front of the crowd, here wasa building whose whole front had literally been torn off and wrecked. The thick plate-glass of the windows was smashed to a mass of greenishsplinters on the sidewalk, while the windows of the upper floors and forseveral houses down the block in either street were likewise broken. Some thick iron bars which had formerly protected the windows were nowbent and twisted. A huge hole yawned in the floor inside the doorway, and peering in we could see the desk and chairs a tangled mass ofkindling. 

"What's the matter?" I inquired of an officer near me, displaying myreporter's fire-line badge, more for its moral effect than in the hopeof getting any real information in these days of enforced silence towardthe press. 

"Black Hand bomb, " was the laconic reply. 

"Whew!" I whistled. "Anyone hurt?"

"They don't usually kill anyone, do they?" asked the officer by way ofreply to test my acquaintance with such things. 

"No, " I admitted. "They destroy more property than lives. But did theyget anyone this time? This must have been a thoroughly overloaded bomb, I should judge by the looks of things. "

"Came pretty close to it. The bank hadn't any more than opened when, bang! went this gas-pipe-and-dynamite thing. Crowd collected before thesmoke had fairly cleared. Man who owns the bank was hurt, but not badly. Now come, beat it down to headquarters if you want to find out any more. You'll find it printed on the pink slips--the 'squeal book'--by thistune. 'Gainst the rules for me to talk, " he added with a good-naturedgrin, then to the crowd: "Gwan, now. You're blockin' traffic. Keepmovin'. "

I turned to Craig and Luigi. Their eyes were riveted on the big giltsign, half broken, and all askew overhead. It read:

 CIRO DI CESARE & CO. BANKERS NEW YORK, GENOA, NAPLES, ROME, PALERMO

"This is the reminder so that Gennaro and his father-in-law will notforget, " I gasped. 

"Yes, " added Craig, pulling us away, "and Cesare himself is wounded, too. Perhaps that was for putting up the notice refusing to pay. Perhapsnot. It's a queer case--they usually set the bombs off at night when noone is around. There must be more back of this than merely to scareGennaro. It looks to me as if they were after Cesare, too, first bypoison, then by dynamite. "

We shouldered our way out through the crowd, and went on until we cameto Mulberry Street, pulsing with life. Down we went past the littleshops, dodging the children, and making way for women with huge bundlesof sweat-shop clothing accurately balanced on their heads or hugged upunder their capacious capes. Here was just one little colony of thehundreds of thousands of Italians--a population larger than the Italianpopulation of Rome--of whose life the rest of New York knew and carednothing. 

At last we came to Albano's little wine-shop, a dark, evil, malodorousplace on the street level of a five-story, alleged "new-law" tenement. Without hesitation Kennedy entered, and we followed, acting the part ofa slumming party. There were a few customers at this early hour, men outof employment and an inoffensive-looking lot, though of course they eyedus sharply. Albano himself proved to be a greasy, low-browed fellow whohad a sort of cunning look. I could well imagine such a fellow spreadingterror in the hearts of simple folk by merely pressing both temples withhis thumbs and drawing his long bony forefinger under his throat--theso-called Black Hand sign that has shut up many a witness in the middleof his testimony even in open court. 

We pushed through to the low-ceilinged back room, which was empty, andsat down at a table. Over a bottle of Albano's famous California "redink" we sat silently. Kennedy was making a mental note of the place. Inthe middle of the ceiling was a single gas-burner with a big reflectorover it. In the back wall of the room was a horizontal oblong window, barred, and with a sash that opened like a transom. The tables weredirty and the chairs rickety. The walls were bare and unfinished, withbeams innocent of decoration. Altogether it was as unprepossessing aplace as I had ever seen. 

Apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, Kennedy got up to go, complimenting the proprietor on his wine. I could see that Kennedy hadmade up his mind as to his course of action. 

"How sordid crime really is, " he remarked as we walked on down thestreet. "Look at that place of Albano's. I defy even the police newsreporter on the _Star_ to find any glamour in that. "

Our next stop was at the corner at the little store kept by the cousinof Luigi, who conducted us back of the partition where prescriptionswere compounded, and found us chairs. 

A hurried explanation from Luigi brought a cloud to the open face of thedruggist, as if he hesitated to lay himself and his little fortune opento the blackmailers. Kennedy saw it and interrupted. 

"All that I wish to do, " he said, "is to put in a little instrument hereand use it to-night for a few minutes. Indeed, there will be no risk toyou, Vincenzo. Secrecy is what I desire, and no one will ever know aboutit. "

Vincenzo was at length convinced, and Craig opened his suit-case. Therewas little in it except several coils of insulated wire, some tools, acouple of packages wrapped up, and a couple of pairs of overalls. In amoment Kennedy had donned overalls and was smearing dirt and grease overhis face and hands. Under his direction I did the same. 

Taking the bag of tools, the wire, and one of the small packages, wewent out on the street and then up through the dark and ill-ventilatedhall of the tenement. Half-way up a woman stopped us suspiciously. 

"Telephone company, " said Craig curtly. "Here's permission from theowner of the house to string wires across the roof. "

He pulled an old letter out of his pocket, but as it was too dark toread even if the woman had cared to do so, we went on up as he hadexpected, unmolested. At last we came to the roof, where there were somechildren at play a couple of houses down from us. 

Kennedy began by dropping two strands of wire down to the ground in theback yard behind Vincenzo's shop. Then he proceeded to lay two wiresalong the edge of the roof. 

We had worked only a little while when the children began to collect. However, Kennedy kept right on until we reached the tenement next tothat in which Albano's shop was. 

"Walter, " he whispered, "just get the children away for a minute now. "

"Look here, you kids, " I yelled, "some of you will fall off if you getso close to the edge of the roof. Keep back. "

It had no effect. Apparently they looked not a bit frightened at thedizzy mass of clothes-lines below us. 

"Say, is there a candy store on this block?" I asked in desperation. 

"Yes, sir, " came the chorus. 

"Who'll go down and get me a bottle of ginger ale?" I asked. 

A chorus of voices and glittering eyes was the answer. They all would. Itook a half-dollar from my pocket and gave it to the oldest. 

"All right now, hustle along, and divide the change. "

With the scamper of many feet they were gone, and we were alone. Kennedyhad now reached Albano's, and as soon as the last head had disappearedbelow the scuttle of the roof he dropped two long strands down into theback yard, as he had done at Vincenzo's. 

I started to go back, but he stopped me. "Oh, that will never do, " hesaid. "The kids will see that the wires end here. I must carry them onseveral houses farther as a blind and trust to luck that they don't seethe wires leading down below. "

We were several houses down, still putting up wires when the crowd cameshouting back, sticky with cheap trust-made candy and black with EastSide chocolate. We opened the ginger ale and forced ourselves to drinkit so as to excite no suspicion, then a few minutes later descended thestairs of the tenement, coming out just above Albano's. 

I was wondering how Kennedy was going to get into Albano's againwithout exciting suspicion. He solved it neatly. 

"Now, Walter, do you think you could stand another dip into that red inkof Albano's?"

I said I might in the interests of science and justice--not otherwise. 

"Well, your face is sufficiently dirty, " he commented, "so that with theoveralls you don't look very much as you did the first time you went in. I don't think they will recognize you. Do I look pretty good?"

"You look like a coal-heaver on the job, " I said. "I can scarcelyrestrain my admiration. "

"All right. Then take this little glass bottle. Go into the back roomand order something cheap, in keeping with your looks. Then when you areall alone break the bottle. It is full of gas drippings. Your nose willdictate what to do next. Just tell the proprietor you saw the gascompany's wagon on the next block and come up here and tell me. "

I entered. There was a sinister-looking man, with a sort of unscrupulousintelligence, writing at a table. As he wrote and puffed at his cigar, Inoticed a scar on his face, a deep furrow running from the lobe of hisear to his mouth. That, I knew, was a brand set upon him by the Camorra. I sat and smoked and sipped slowly for several minutes, cursing himinwardly more for his presence than for his evident look of the "_malavita_. " At last he went out to ask the barkeeper for a stamp. 

Quickly I tiptoed over to another corner of the room and ground thelittle bottle under my heel. Then I resumed my seat. The odor thatpervaded the room was sickening. 

The sinister-looking man with the scar came in again and sniffed. Isniffed. Then the proprietor came in and sniffed. 

"Say, " I said in the toughest voice I could assume, "you got a leak. Wait. I seen the gas company wagon on the next block when I came in. I'll get the man. "

I dashed out and hurried up the street to the place where Kennedy waswaiting impatiently. Rattling his tools, he followed me with apparentreluctance. 

As he entered the wine-shop he snorted, after the manner of gasmen, "Where's de leak?"

"You find-a da leak, " grunted Albano. "What-a you get-a you pay for? Youwant-a me do your work?"

"Well, half a dozen o' you wops get out o' here, that's all. D'youse allwanter be blown ter pieces wid dem pipes and cigarettes? Clear out, "growled Kennedy. 

They retreated precipitately, and Craig hastily opened his bag of tools. 

"Quick, Walter, shut the door and hold it, " exclaimed Craig, workingrapidly. He unwrapped a little package and took out a round, flatdisk-like thing of black vulcanized rubber. Jumping up on a table, hefixed it to the top of the reflector over the gas-jet. 

"Can you see that from the floor, Walter?" he asked, under his breath. 

"No, " I replied, "not even when I know it is there. "

Then he attached a couple of wires to it and led them across the ceilingtoward the window, concealing them carefully by sticking them in theshadow of a beam. At the window he quickly attached the wires to the twothat were dangling down from the roof and shoved them around out ofsight. 

"We'll have to trust that no one sees them, " he said. "That's the best Ican do at such short notice. I never saw a room so bare as this, anyway. There isn't another place I could put that thing without its beingseen. "

We gathered up the broken glass of the gas-drippings bottle, and Iopened the door. 

"It's all right now, " said Craig, sauntering out before the bar. "Onlyde next time you has anyt'ing de matter call de company up. I ain'tsupposed to do dis wit'out orders, see?"

A moment later I followed, glad to get out of the oppressive atmosphere, and joined him in the back of Vincenzo's drug store, where he was againat work. As there was no back window there, it was quite a job to leadthe wires around the outside from the back yard and in at a side window. It was at last done, however, without exciting suspicion, and Kennedyattached them to an oblong box of weathered oak and a pair of speciallyconstructed dry batteries. 

"Now, " said Craig, as we washed off the stains of work and stowed theoveralls back in the suitcase, "that is done to my satisfaction. I cantell Gennaro to go ahead safely now and meet the Black Handers. "

From Vincenzo's we walked over toward Center Street, where Kennedy and Ileft Luigi to return to his restaurant, with instructions to be atVincenzo's at half-past eleven that night. 

We turned into the new police headquarters and went down the longcorridor to the Italian Bureau. Kennedy sent in his card to LieutenantGiuseppe in charge, and we were quickly admitted. The lieutenant was ashort, full-faced fleshy Italian, with lightish hair and eyes that wereapparently dull, until you suddenly discovered that that was merely acover to their really restless way of taking in everything and fixingit on his mind, as if on a sensitive plate. 

"I want to talk about the Gennaro case, " began Craig. "I may add that Ihave been rather closely associated with Inspector O'Connor of theCentral Office on a number of cases, so that I think we can trust eachother. Would you mind telling me what you know about it if I promise youthat I, too, have something to reveal?"

The lieutenant leaned back and watched Kennedy closely without seemingto do so. "When I was in Italy last year, " he replied at length, "I dida good deal of work in tracing up some Camorra suspects. I had a tipabout some of them to look up their records--I needn't say where it camefrom, but it was a good one. Much of the evidence against some of thosefellows who are being tried at Viterbo was gathered by the Carabinierias a result of hints that I was able to give them--clues that werefurnished to me here in America from the source I speak of. I supposethere is really no need to conceal it, though. The original tip camefrom a certain banker here in New York. "

"I can guess who it was, " nodded Craig. 

"Then, as you know, this banker is a fighter. He is the man whoorganized the White Hand--an organization which is trying to rid theItalian population of the Black Hand. His society had a lot of evidenceregarding former members of both the Camorra in Naples and the Mafia inSicily, as well as the Black Hand gangs in New York, Chicago, and othercities. Well, Cesare, as you know, is Gennaro's father-in-law. 

"While I was in Naples looking up the record of a certain criminal Iheard of a peculiar murder committed some years ago. There was an honestold music master who apparently lived the quietest and most harmless oflives. But it became known that he was supported by Cesare and hadreceived handsome presents of money from him. The old man was, as youmay have guessed, the first music teacher of Gennaro, the man whodiscovered him. One might have been at a loss to see how he could havean enemy, but there was one who coveted his small fortune. One day hewas stabbed and robbed. His murderer ran out into the street, crying outthat the poor man had been killed. Naturally a crowd rushed up in amoment, for it was in the middle of the day. Before the injured mancould make it understood who had struck him the assassin was down thestreet and lost in the maze of old Naples where he well knew the housesof his friends who would hide him. The man who is known to havecommitted that crime--Francesco Paoli--escaped to New York. We arelooking for him to-day. He is a clever man, far above the average--sonof a doctor in a town a few miles from Naples, went to the university, was expelled for some mad prank--in short, he was the black sheep of thefamily. Of course over here he is too high-born to work with his handson a railroad or in a trench, and not educated enough to work atanything else. So he has been preying on his more industriouscountrymen--a typical case of a man living by his wits with no visiblemeans of support. 

"Now I don't mind telling you in strict confidence, " continued thelieutenant, "that it's my theory that old Cesare had seen Paoli here, knew he was wanted for that murder of the old music master, and gave methe tip to look up his record. At any rate, Paoli disappeared rightafter I returned from Italy, and we haven't been able to locate himsince. He must have found out in some way that the tip to look him uphad been given by the White Hand. He had been a Camorrista, in Italy, and had many ways of getting information here in America. "

He paused, and balanced a piece of cardboard in his hand. 

"It is my theory of this case that if we could locate this Paoli wecould solve the kidnapping of little Adelina Gennaro very quickly. That's his picture. "

Kennedy and I bent over to look at it, and I started in surprise. It wasmy evil-looking friend with the scar on his cheek. 

"Well, " said Craig, quietly handing back the card, "whether or not he isthe man, I know where we can catch the kidnappers to-night, Lieutenant. "

It was Giuseppe's turn to show surprise now. 

"With your assistance I'll get this man and the whole gang to-night, "explained Craig, rapidly sketching over his plan and concealing justenough to make sure that no matter how anxious the lieutenant was to getthe credit he could not spoil the affair by premature interference. 

The final arrangement was that four of the best men of the squad were tohide in a vacant store across from Vincenzo's early in the evening, longbefore anyone was watching. The signal for them to appear was to be theextinguishing of the lights behind the coloured bottles in thedruggist's window. A taxicab was to be kept waiting at headquarters atthe same time with three other good men ready to start for a givenaddress the moment the alarm was given over the telephone. 

We found Gennaro awaiting us with the greatest anxiety at the operahouse. The bomb at Cesare's had been the last straw. Gennaro had alreadydrawn from his bank ten crisp one-thousand-dollar bills, and already hehad a copy of _Il Progresso_ in which he had hidden the money betweenthe sheets. 

"Mr. Kennedy, " he said, "I am going to meet them to-night. They may killme. See, I have provided myself with a pistol--I shall fight, too, ifnecessary for my little Adelina. But if it is only money they want, theyshall have it. "

"One thing I want to say, " began Kennedy. 

"No, no, no!" cried the tenor. "I will go--you shall not stop me. "

"I don't wish to stop you, " Craig reassured him. "But one thing--doexactly as I tell you, and I swear not a hair of the child's head willbe injured and we will get the blackmailers, too. "

"How?" eagerly asked Gennaro. "What do you want me to do?"

"All I want you to do is to go to Albano's at the appointed time. Sitdown in the back room. Get into conversation with them, and, above all, Signor, as soon as you get the copy of the _Bolletino_ turn to the thirdpage, pretend not to be able to read the address. Ask the man to readit. Then repeat it after him. Pretend to be overjoyed. Offer to set upwine for the whole crowd. Just a few minutes, that is all I ask, and Iwill guarantee that you will be the happiest man in New York to-morrow. "

Gennaro's eyes filled with tears as he grasped Kennedy's hand. "That isbetter than having the whole police force back of me, " he said. "I shallnever forget, never forget. "

As we went out Kennedy remarked: "You can't blame them for keeping theirtroubles to themselves. Here we send a police officer over to Italy tolook up the records of some of the worst suspects. He loses his life. Another takes his place. Then after he gets back he is set to work onthe mere clerical routine of translating them. One of his associates isreduced in rank. And so what does it all come to? Hundreds of recordshave become useless because the three years within which the criminalscould be deported have elapsed with nothing done. Intelligent, isn't it?I believe it has been established that all but about fifty of sevenhundred known Italian suspects are still at large, mostly in this city. And the rest of the Italian population is guarded from them by a squadof police in number scarcely one-thirtieth of the number of knowncriminals. No, it's our fault if the Black Hand thrives. "

We had been standing on the corner of Broadway, waiting for a car. 

"Now, Walter, don't forget. Meet me at the Bleecker Street station ofthe subway at eleven thirty. I'm off to the university. I have some veryimportant experiments with phosphorescent salts that I want to finishto-day. "

"What has that to do with the case?" I asked mystified. 

"Nothing, " replied Craig. "I didn't say it had. At eleven thirty, don'tforget. By George, though, that Paoli must be a clever one--think of hisknowing about ricinus. I only heard of it myself recently. Well, here'smy car. Good-bye. "

Craig swung aboard an Amsterdam Avenue car, leaving me to kill eightnervous hours of my weekly day of rest from the _Star_. 

They passed at length, and at precisely the appointed time Kennedy and Imet. With suppressed excitement, at least on my part, we walked over toVincenzo's. At night this section of the city was indeed a black enigma. The lights in the shops where olive oil, fruit, and other things weresold, were winking out one by one; here and there strains of musicfloated out of wine-shops, and little groups lingered on cornersconversing in animated sentences. We passed Albano's on the other sideof the street, being careful not to look at it too closely, for severalmen were hanging idly about--pickets, apparently, with some secret codethat would instantly have spread far and wide the news of any alarmingaction. 

At the corner we crossed and looked in Vincenzo's window a moment, casting a furtive glance across the street at the dark empty store wherethe police must be hiding. Then we went in and casually sauntered backof the partition. Luigi was there already. There were several customersstill in the store, however, and therefore we had to sit in silencewhile Vincenzo quickly finished a prescription and waited on the lastone. 

At last the doors were locked and the lights lowered, all except thosein the windows which were to serve as signals. 

"Ten minutes to twelve, " said Kennedy, placing the oblong box on thetable. "Gennaro will be going in soon. Let us try this machine now andsee if it works. If the wires have been cut since we put them up thismorning Gennaro will have to take his chances alone. "

Kennedy reached over and with a light movement of his forefinger toucheda switch. 

Instantly a babel of voices filled the store, all talking at once, rapidly and loudly. Here and there we could distinguish a snatch ofconversation, a word, a phrase, now and then even a whole sentenceabove the rest. There was the clink of glasses. I could hear the rattleof dice on a bare table, and an oath. A cork popped. Somebody scratcheda match. 

We sat bewildered, looking at Kennedy. 

"Imagine that you are sitting at a table in Albano's back room, " was allhe said. "This is what you would be hearing. This is my 'electricear'--in other words the dictagraph, used, I am told, by the SecretService of the United States. Wait, in a moment you will hear Gennarocome in. Luigi and Vincenzo, translate what you hear. My knowledge ofItalian is pretty rusty. "

"Can they hear us?" whispered Luigi in an awestruck whisper. 

Craig laughed. "No, not yet. But I have only to touch this other switch, and I could produce an effect in that room that would rival the famouswriting on Belshazzar's wall--only it would be a voice from the wallinstead of writing. "

"They seem to be waiting for someone, " said Vincenzo. "I heard somebodysay: 'He will be here in a few minutes. Now get out. '"

The babel of voices seemed to calm down as men withdrew from the room. Only one or two were left. 

"One of them says the child is all right. She has been left in the backyard, " translated Luigi. 

"What yard? Did he say?" asked Kennedy. 

"No, they just speak of it as the 'yard. '"

"Jameson, go outside in the store to the telephone booth and call upheadquarters. Ask them if the automobile is ready, with the men in it. "

I rang up, and after a moment the police central answered thateverything was right. 

"Then tell central to hold the line clear--we mustn't lose a moment. Jameson, you stay in the booth. Vincenzo, you pretend to be workingaround your window, but not in such a way as to attract attention, forthey have men watching the street very carefully. What is it, Luigi?"

"Gennaro is coming. I just heard one of them say, 'Here he comes. '"

Even from the booth I could hear the dictagraph repeating theconversation in the dingy little back room of Albano's, down the street. 

"He's ordering a bottle of red wine, " murmured Luigi, dancing up anddown with excitement. 

Vincenzo was so nervous that he knocked a bottle down in the window, andI believe that my heartbeats were almost audible over the telephonewhich I was holding, for the police operator called me down for askingso many times if all was ready. 

"There it is--the signal, " cried Craig. "'A fine opera is "IPagliacci. "' Now listen for the answer. "

A moment elapsed, then, "Not without Gennaro, " came a gruff voice inItalian from the dictagraph. 

A silence ensued. It was tense. 

"Wait, wait, " said a voice which I recognized instantly as Gennaro's. "I cannot read this. What is this, 23-1/2 Prince Street?"

"No, 33-1/2. She has been left in the back yard. "

"Jameson, " called Craig, "tell them to drive straight to 33-1/2, PrinceStreet. They will find the girl in the back yard--quick, before theBlack-Handers have a chance to go back on their word. "

I fairly shouted my orders to the police headquarters. "They're off, "came back the answer, and I hung up the receiver. 

"What was that?" Craig was asking of Luigi. "I didn't catch it. What didthey say?"

"That other voice said to Gennaro, 'Sit down while I count this. '"

"Sh! he's talking again. "

"If it is a penny less than ten thousand or I find a mark on the billsI'll call to Enrico, and your daughter will be spirited away again, "translated Luigi. 

"Now, Gennaro is talking, " said Craig. "Good--he is gaining time. He isa trump. I can distinguish that all right. He's asking the gruff-voicedfellow if he will have another bottle of wine. He says he will. Good. They must be at Prince Street now--we'll give them a few minutes more, not too much, for word will be back to Albano's like wildfire, and theywill get Gennaro after all. Ah, they are drinking again. What was that, Luigi? The money is all right, he says? Now, Vincenzo, out with thelights!"

A door banged open across the street, and four huge dark figures dartedout in the direction of Albano's. 

With his finger Kennedy pulled down the other switch and shouted:"Gennaro, this is Kennedy! To the street! _Polizia! Polizia!_"

A scuffle and a cry of surprise followed. A second voice, apparentlyfrom the bar, shouted, "Out with the lights, out with the lights!"

Bang! went a pistol, and another. 

The dictagraph, which had been all sound a moment before, was as mute asa cigar-box. 

"What's the matter?" I asked Kennedy, as he rushed past me. 

"They have shot out the lights. My receiving instrument is destroyed. Come on, Jameson; Vincenzo, stay back if you don't want to appear inthis. "

A short figure rushed by me, faster even than I could go. It was thefaithful Luigi. 

In front of Albano's an exciting fight was going on. Shots were beingfired wildly in the darkness, and heads were popping out of tenementwindows on all sides. As Kennedy and I flung ourselves into the crowd wecaught a glimpse of Gennaro, with blood streaming from a cut on hisshoulder, struggling with a policeman while Luigi vainly was trying tointerpose himself between them. A man, held by another policeman, wasurging the first officer on. "That's the man, " he was crying. "That'sthe kidnapper. I caught him. "

In a moment Kennedy was behind him. "Paoli, you lie. You are thekidnapper. Seize him--he has the money on him. That other is Gennarohimself. "

The policeman released the tenor, and both of them seized Paoli. Theothers were beating at the door, which was being frantically barricadedinside. 

Just then a taxicab came swinging up the street. Three men jumped outand added their strength to those who were battering down Albano'sbarricade. 

Gennaro, with a cry, leaped into the taxicab. Over his shoulder I couldsee a tangled mass of dark brown curls, and a childish voice lisped:"Why didn't you come for me, papa? The bad man told me if I waited inthe yard you would come for me. But if I cried he said he would shootme. And I waited, and waited--"

"There, there, 'Lina, papa's going to take you straight home to mother. "

A crash followed as the door yielded, and the famous Paoli gang was inthe hands of the law. 

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote A: Permission of the Author and Messrs. Harper & Brothers. ]

III

THE BITER BIT

WILKIE COLLINS

_Extracted from the Correspondence of the London Police. _

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE, OF THE DETECTIVE POLICE, TO SERGEANTBULMER, OF THE SAME FORCE. 

 London, 4th July, 18--. 

SERGEANT BULMER, --This is to inform you that you are wanted to assist inlooking up a case of importance, which will require all the attention ofan experienced member of the force. The matter of the robbery on whichyou are now engaged you will please to shift over to the young man whobrings you this letter. You will tell him all the circumstances of thecase, just as they stand; you will put him up to the progress you havemade (if any) toward detecting the person or persons by whom the moneyhas been stolen; and you will leave him to make the best he can of thematter now in your hands. He is to have the whole responsibility of thecase, and the whole credit of his success if he brings it to a properissue. 

So much for the orders that I am desired to communicate to you. 

A word in your ear, next, about this new man who is to take your place. His name is Matthew Sharpin, and he is to have the chance given him ofdashing into our office at one jump--supposing he turns out strongenough to take it. You will naturally ask me how he comes by thisprivilege. I can only tell you that he has some uncommonly stronginterest to back him in certain high quarters, which you and I hadbetter not mention except under our breaths. He has been a lawyer'sclerk, and he is wonderfully conceited in his opinion of himself, aswell as mean and underhand to look at. According to his own account, heleaves his old trade and joins ours of his own free will and preference. You will no more believe that than I do. My notion is, that he hasmanaged to ferret out some private information in connection with theaffairs of one of his master's clients, which makes him rather anawkward customer to keep in the office for the future, and which, at thesame time, gives him hold enough over his employer to make it dangerousto drive him into a corner by turning him away. I think the giving himthis unheard-of chance among us is, in plain words, pretty much likegiving him hush-money to keep him quiet. However that may be, Mr. Matthew Sharpin is to have the case now in your hands, and if hesucceeds with it, he pokes his ugly nose into our office as sure as fate. I put you up to this, sergeant, so that you may not stand in your ownlight by giving the new man any cause to complain of you atheadquarters, and remain yours, FRANCIS THEAKSTONE. 

FROM MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN TO CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE. 

 London, 5th July, 18--. 

DEAR SIR, --Having now been favoured with the necessary instructions fromSergeant Bulmer, I beg to remind you of certain directions which I havereceived relating to the report of my future proceedings which I am toprepare for examination at headquarters. 

The object of my writing, and of your examining what I have writtenbefore you send it to the higher authorities, is, I am informed, to giveme, as an untried hand, the benefit of your advice in case I want it(which I venture to think I shall not) at any stage of my proceedings. As the extraordinary circumstances of the case on which I am now engagedmake it impossible for me to absent myself from the place where therobbery was committed until I have made some progress toward discoveringthe thief, I am necessarily precluded from consulting you personally. Hence the necessity of my writing down the various details, which might, perhaps, be better communicated by word of mouth. This, if I am notmistaken, is the position in which we are now placed. I state my ownimpressions on the subject in writing, in order that we may clearlyunderstand each other at the outset; and have the honour to remain yourobedient servant, MATTHEW SHARPIN. 

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE TO MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN. 

 London, 5th July, 18--. 

SIR, --You have begun by wasting time, ink, and paper. We both of usperfectly well knew the position we stood in toward each other when Isent you with my letter to Sergeant Bulmer. There was not the least needto repeat it in writing. Be so good as to employ your pen in future onthe business actually in hand. 

You have now three separate matters on which to write me. First, youhave to draw up a statement of your instructions received from SergeantBulmer, in order to show us that nothing has escaped your memory, andthat you are thoroughly acquainted with all the circumstances of thecase which has been intrusted to you. Secondly, you are to inform mewhat it is you propose to do. Thirdly, you are to report every inch ofyour progress (if you make any) from day to day, and, if need be, fromhour to hour as well. This is _your_ duty. As to what _my_ duty may be, when I want you to remind me of it, I will write and tell you so. In themean time, I remain yours, FRANCIS THEAKSTONE. 

FROM MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN TO CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE. 

 London, 6th July, 18--. 

SIR, --You are rather an elderly person, and, as such, naturally inclinedto be a little jealous of men like me, who are in the prime of theirlives and their faculties. Under these circumstances, it is my duty tobe considerate toward you, and not to bear too hardly on your smallfailings. I decline, therefore, altogether to take offense at the toneof your letter; I give you the full benefit of the natural generosity ofmy nature; I sponge the very existence of your surly communication outof my memory--in short, Chief Inspector Theakstone, I forgive you, andproceed to business. 

My first duty is to draw up a full statement of the instructions I havereceived from Sergeant Bulmer. Here they are at your service, accordingto my version of them. 

At number Thirteen Rutherford Street, Soho, there is a stationer's shop. It is kept by one Mr. Yatman. He is a married man, but has no family. Besides Mr. And Mrs. Yatman, the other inmates in the house are alodger, a young single man named Jay, who occupies the front room onthe second floor--a shopman, who sleeps in one of the attics, and aservant-of-all-work, whose bed is in the back kitchen. Once a week acharwoman comes to help this servant. These are all the persons who, onordinary occasions, have means of access to the interior of the house, placed, as a matter of course, at their disposal. 

Mr. Yatman has been in business for many years, carrying on his affairsprosperously enough to realize a handsome independence for a person inhis position. Unfortunately for himself, he endeavoured to increase theamount of his property by speculating. 

He ventured boldly in his investments; luck went against him; and ratherless than two years ago he found himself a poor man again. All that wassaved out of the wreck of his property was the sum of two hundredpounds. 

Although Mr. Yatman did his best to meet his altered circumstances, bygiving up many of the luxuries and comforts to which he and his wife hadbeen accustomed, he found it impossible to retrench so far as to allowof putting by any money from the income produced by his shop. Thebusiness has been declining of late years, the cheap advertisingstationers having done it injury with the public. Consequently, up tothe last week, the only surplus property possessed by Mr. Yatmanconsisted of the two hundred pounds which had been recovered from thewreck of his fortune. This sum was placed as a deposit in a joint-stockbank of the highest possible character. 

Eight days ago Mr. Yatman and his lodger, Mr. Jay, held a conversationon the subject of the commercial difficulties which are hampering tradein all directions at the present time. Mr. Jay (who lives by supplyingthe newspapers with short paragraphs relating to accidents, offenses, and brief records of remarkable occurrences in general--who is, inshort, what they call a penny-a-liner) told his landlord that he hadbeen in the city that day and heard unfavourable rumours on the subjectof the joint-stock banks. The rumours to which he alluded had alreadyreached the ears of Mr. Yatman from other quarters, and the confirmationof them by his lodger had such an effect on his mind--predisposed as itwas to alarm by the experience of his former losses--that he resolved togo at once to the bank and withdraw his deposit. It was then getting ontoward the end of the afternoon, and he arrived just in time to receivehis money before the bank closed. 

He received the deposit in bank-notes of the following amounts: onefifty-pound note, three twenty-pound notes, six ten-pound notes, and sixfive-pound notes. His object in drawing the money in this form was tohave it ready to lay out immediately in trifling loans, on goodsecurity, among the small tradespeople of his district, some of whom aresorely pressed for the very means of existence at the present time. Investments of this kind seemed to Mr. Yatman to be the most safe andthe most profitable on which he could now venture. 

He brought the money back in an envelope placed in his breast pocket, and asked his shopman, on getting home, to look for a small, flat, tincash-box, which had not been used for years, and which, as Mr. Yatmanremembered it, was exactly of the right size to hold the bank-notes. Forsome time the cash-box was searched for in vain. Mr. Yatman called tohis wife to know if she had any idea where it was. The question wasoverheard by the servant-of-all-work, who was taking up the tea-tray atthe time, and by Mr. Jay, who was coming downstairs on his way out tothe theatre. Ultimately the cash-box was found by the shopman. Mr. Yatman placed the bank-notes in it, secured them by a padlock, and putthe box in his coat pocket. It stuck out of the coat pocket a verylittle, but enough to be seen. Mr. Yatman remained at home, upstairs, all that evening. No visitors called. At eleven o'clock he went to bed, and put the cash-box under his pillow. 

When he and his wife woke the next morning the box was gone. Payment ofthe notes was immediately stopped at the Bank of England, but no news ofthe money has been heard of since that time. 

So far the circumstances of the case are perfectly clear. They pointunmistakably to the conclusion that the robbery must have been committedby some person living in the house. Suspicion falls, therefore, uponthe servant-of-all-work, upon the shopman, and upon Mr. Jay. The twofirst knew that the cash-box was being inquired for by their master, butdid not know what it was he wanted to put into it. They would assume, ofcourse, that it was money. They both had opportunities (the servant whenshe took away the tea, and the shopman when he came, after shutting up, to give the keys of the till to his master) of seeing the cash-box inMr. Yatman's pocket, and of inferring naturally, from its positionthere, that he intended to take it into his bedroom with him at night. 

Mr. Jay, on the other hand, had been told, during the afternoon'sconversation on the subject of joint-stock banks, that his landlord hada deposit of two hundred pounds in one of them. He also knew that Mr. Yatman left him with the intention of drawing that money out; and heheard the inquiry for the cash-box afterward, when he was comingdownstairs. He must, therefore, have inferred that the money was in thehouse, and that the cash-box was the receptacle intended to contain it. That he could have had any idea, however, of the place in which Mr. Yatman intended to keep it for the night is impossible, seeing that hewent out before the box was found, and did not return till his landlordwas in bed. Consequently, if he committed the robbery, he must have goneinto the bedroom purely on speculation. 

Speaking of the bedroom reminds me of the necessity of noticing thesituation of it in the house, and the means that exist of gaining easyaccess to it at any hour of the night. 

The room in question is the back room on the first floor. In consequenceof Mrs. Yatman's constitutional nervousness on the subject of fire, which makes her apprehend being burned alive in her room, in case ofaccident, by the hampering of the lock if the key is turned in it, herhusband has never been accustomed to lock the bedroom door. Both he andhis wife are, by their own admission, heavy sleepers; consequently, therisk to be run by any evil-disposed persons wishing to plunder thebedroom was of the most trifling kind. They could enter the room bymerely turning the handle of the door; and, if they moved with ordinarycaution, there was no fear of their waking the sleepers inside. Thisfact is of importance. It strengthens our conviction that the money musthave been taken by one of the inmates of the house, because it tends toshow that the robbery, in this case, might have been committed bypersons not possessed of the superior vigilance and running of theexperienced thief. 

Such are the circumstances, as they were related to Sergeant Bulmer whenhe was first called in to discover the guilty parties, and, if possible, to recover the lost bank-notes. The strictest inquiry which he couldinstitute failed of producing the smallest fragment of evidence againstany of the persons on whom suspicion naturally fell. Their language andbehaviour on being informed of the robbery was perfectly consistent withthe language and behaviour of innocent people. Sergeant Bulmer felt fromthe first that this was a case for private inquiry and secretobservation. He began by recommending Mr. And Mrs. Yatman to affect afeeling of perfect confidence in the innocence of the persons livingunder their roof, and he then opened the campaign by employing himselfin following the goings and comings, and in discovering the friends, thehabits, and the secrets of the maid-of-all-work. 

Three days and nights of exertion on his own part, and on that of otherswho were competent to assist his investigations, were enough to satisfyhim that there was no sound cause for suspicion against the girl. 

He next practised the same precaution in relation to the shopman. Therewas more difficulty and uncertainty in privately clearing up thisperson's character without his knowledge, but the obstacles were at lastsmoothed away with tolerable success; and, though there is not the sameamount of certainty in this case which there was in the case of thegirl, there is still fair reason for supposing that the shopman has hadnothing to do with the robbery of the cash-box. 

As a necessary consequence of these proceedings, the range of suspicionnow becomes limited to the lodger, Mr. Jay. 

When I presented your letter of introduction to Sergeant Bulmer, he hadalready made some inquiries on the subject of this young man. Theresult, so far, has not been at all favourable. Mr. Jay's habits areirregular; he frequents public houses, and seems to be familiarlyacquainted with a great many dissolute characters; he is in debt to mostof the tradespeople whom he employs; he has not paid his rent to Mr. Yatman for the last month; yesterday evening he came home excited byliquor, and last week he was seen talking to a prizefighter; in short, though Mr. Jay does call himself a journalist, in virtue of hispenny-a-line contributions to the newspapers, he is a young man of lowtaste, vulgar manners, and bad habits. Nothing has yet been discoveredin relation to him which redounds to his credit in the smallest degree. 

I have now reported, down to the very last details, all the particularscommunicated to me by Sergeant Bulmer. I believe you will not find anomission anywhere; and I think you will admit, though you are prejudicedagainst me, that a clearer statement of facts was never laid before youthan the statement I have now made. My next duty is to tell you what Ipropose to do now that the case is confided to my hands. 

In the first place, it is clearly my business to take up the case at thepoint where Sergeant Bulmer has left it. On his authority, I amjustified in assuming that I have no need to trouble myself about themaid-of-all-work and the shopman. Their characters are now to beconsidered as cleared up. What remains to be privately investigated isthe question of the guilt or innocence of Mr. Jay. Before we give up thenotes for lost, we must make sure, if we can, that he knows nothingabout them. 

This is the plan that I have adopted, with the full approval of Mr. AndMrs. Yatman, for discovering whether Mr. Jay is or is not the person whohas stolen the cash-box:

I propose to-day to present myself at the house in the character of ayoung man who is looking for lodgings. The back room on the second floorwill be shown to me as the room to let, and I shall establish myselfthere to-night as a person from the country who has come to London tolook for a situation in a respectable shop or office. 

By this means I shall be living next to the room occupied by Mr. Jay. The partition between us is mere lath and plaster. I shall make a smallhole in it, near the cornice, through which I can see what Mr. Jay doesin his room, and hear every word that is said when any friend happens tocall on him. Whenever he is at home, I shall be at my post ofobservation; whenever he goes out, I shall be after him. By employingthese means of watching him, I believe I may look forward to thediscovery of his secret--if he knows anything about the lostbank-notes--as to a dead certainty. 

What you may think of my plan of observation I can not undertake to say. It appears to me to unite the invaluable merits of boldness andsimplicity. Fortified by this conviction, I close the presentcommunication with feelings of the most sanguine description in regardto the future, and remain your obedient servant, MATTHEW SHARPIN. 

FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. 

 7th July. 

SIR, --As you have not honoured me with any answer to my lastcommunication, I assume that, in spite of your prejudices against me, ithas produced the favourable impression on your mind which I ventured toanticipate. Gratified and encouraged beyond measure by the token ofapproval which your eloquent silence conveys to me, I proceed to reportthe progress that has been made in the course of the last twenty-fourhours. 

I am now comfortably established next door to Mr. Jay, and I amdelighted to say that I have two holes in the partition instead of one. My natural sense of humour has led me into the pardonable extravaganceof giving them both appropriate names. One I call my peep-hole, and theother my pipe-hole. The name of the first explains itself; the name ofthe second refers to a small tin pipe or tube inserted in the hole, andtwisted so that the mouth of it comes close to my ear while I amstanding at my post of observation. Thus, while I am looking at Mr. Jaythrough my peep-hole, I can hear every word that may be spoken in hisroom through my pipe-hole. 

Perfect candour--a virtue which I have possessed from mychildhood--compels me to acknowledge, before I go any farther, that theingenious notion of adding a pipe-hole to my proposed peep-holeoriginated with Mrs. Yatman. This lady--a most intelligent andaccomplished person, simple, and yet distinguished in her manners, hasentered into all my little plans with an enthusiasm and intelligencewhich I can not too highly praise. Mr. Yatman is so cast down by hisloss that he is quite incapable of affording me any assistance. Mrs. Yatman, who is evidently most tenderly attached to him, feels herhusband's sad condition of mind even more acutely than she feels theloss of the money, and is mainly stimulated to exertion by her desire toassist in raising him from the miserable state of prostration into whichhe has now fallen. 

"The money, Mr. Sharpin, " she said to me yesterday evening, with tearsin her eyes, "the money may be regained by rigid economy and strictattention to business. It is my husband's wretched state of mind thatmakes me so anxious for the discovery of the thief. I may be wrong, butI felt hopeful of success as soon as you entered the house; and Ibelieve that, if the wretch who robbed us is to be found, you are theman to discover him. " I accepted this gratifying compliment in thespirit in which it was offered, firmly believing that I shall be found, sooner or later, to have thoroughly deserved it. 

Let me now return to business--that is to say, to my peep-hole and mypipe-hole. 

I have enjoyed some hours of calm observation of Mr. Jay. Though rarelyat home, as I understand from Mrs. Yatman, on ordinary occasions, he hasbeen indoors the whole of this day. That is suspicious, to begin with. Ihave to report, further, that he rose at a late hour this morning(always a bad sign in a young man), and that he lost a great deal oftime, after he was up, in yawning and complaining to himself ofheadache. Like other debauched characters, he ate little or nothing forbreakfast. His next proceeding was to smoke a pipe--a dirty clay pipe, which a gentleman would have been ashamed to put between his lips. Whenhe had done smoking he took out pen, ink, and paper, and sat down towrite with a groan--whether of remorse for having taken the bank-notes, or of disgust at the task before him, I am unable to say. After writinga few lines (too far away from my peep-hole to give me a chance ofreading over his shoulder), he leaned back in his chair, and amusedhimself by humming the tunes of popular songs. I recognized "My MaryAnne, " "Bobbin' Around, " and "Old Dog Tray, " among other melodies. Whether these do or do not represent secret signals by which hecommunicates with his accomplices remains to be seen. After he hadamused himself for some time by humming, he got up and began to walkabout the room, occasionally stopping to add a sentence to the paper onhis desk. Before long he went to a locked cupboard and opened it. Istrained my eyes eagerly, in expectation of making a discovery. I sawhim take something carefully out of the cupboard--he turned round--andit was only a pint bottle of brandy! Having drunk some of the liquor, this extremely indolent reprobate lay down on his bed again, and in fiveminutes was fast asleep. 

After hearing him snoring for at least two hours, I was recalled to mypeep-hole by a knock at his door. He jumped up and opened it withsuspicious activity. 

A very small boy, with a very dirty face, walked in, said, "Please, sir, they're waiting for you, " sat down with his legs a long way from theground, and instantly fell asleep! Mr. Jay swore an oath, tied a wettowel round his head, and, going back to his paper, began to cover itwith, writing as fast as his fingers could move the pen. Occasionallygetting up to dip the towel in water and tie it on again, he continuedat this employment for nearly three hours; then folded up the leaves ofwriting, woke the boy, and gave them to him, with this remarkableexpression: "Now, then, young sleepy-head, quick march! If you see thegovernor, tell him to have the money ready for me when I call for it. "The boy grinned and disappeared. I was sorely tempted to follow"sleepy-head, " but, on reflection, considered it safest still to keep myeye on the proceedings of Mr. Jay. 

In half an hour's time he put on his hat and walked out. Of course, Iput on my hat and walked out also. As I went downstairs I passed Mrs. Yatman going up. The lady has been kind enough to undertake, by previousarrangement between us, to search Mr. Jay's room while he is out of theway, and while I am necessarily engaged in the pleasing duty offollowing him wherever he goes. On the occasion to which I now refer, hewalked straight to the nearest tavern, and ordered a couple ofmutton-chops for his dinner. I placed myself in the next box to him, andordered a couple of mutton-chops for my dinner. Before I had been in theroom a minute, a young man of highly suspicious manners and appearance, sitting at a table opposite, took his glass of porter in his hand andjoined Mr. Jay. I pretended to be reading the newspaper, and listened, as in duty bound, with all my might. 

"Jack has been here inquiring after you, " says the young man. 

"Did he leave any message?" asks Mr. Jay. 

"Yes, " says the other. "He told me, if I met with you, to say that hewished very particularly to see you to-night, and that he would give youa look in at Rutherford Street at seven o'clock. "

"All right, " says Mr. Jay. "I'll get back in time to see him. "

Upon this, the suspicious-looking young man finished his porter, andsaying that he was rather in a hurry, took leave of his friend (perhapsI should not be wrong if I said his accomplice?), and left the room. 

At twenty-five minutes and a half past six--in these serious cases it isimportant to be particular about time--Mr. Jay finished his chops andpaid his bill. At twenty-six minutes and three quarters I finished mychops and paid mine. In ten minutes more I was inside the house inRutherford Street, and was received by Mrs. Yatman in the passage. Thatcharming woman's face exhibited an expression of melancholy anddisappointment which it quite grieved me to see. 

"I am afraid, ma'am, " says I, "that you have not hit on any littlecriminating discovery in the lodger's room?"

She shook her head and sighed. It was a soft, languid, flutteringsigh--and, upon my life, it quite upset me. For the moment I forgotbusiness, and burned with envy of Mr. Yatman. 

"Don't despair, ma'am, " I said, with an insinuating mildness whichseemed to touch her. "I have heard a mysterious conversation--I know ofa guilty appointment--and I expect great things from my peep-hole and mypipe-hole to-night. Pray don't be alarmed, but I think we are on thebrink of a discovery. "

Here my enthusiastic devotion to business got the better part of mytender feelings. I looked--winked--nodded--left her. 

When I got back to my observatory, I found Mr. Jay digesting hismutton-chops in an arm-chair, with his pipe in his mouth. On his tablewere two tumblers, a jug of water, and the pint bottle of brandy. It wasthen close upon seven o'clock. As the hour struck the person describedas "Jack" walked in. 

He looked agitated--I am happy to say he looked violently agitated. Thecheerful glow of anticipated success diffused itself (to use a strongexpression) all over me, from head to foot. With breathless interest Ilooked through my peep-hole, and saw the visitor--the "Jack" of thisdelightful case--sit down, facing me, at the opposite side of the tableto Mr. Jay. Making allowance for the difference in expression whichtheir countenances just now happened to exhibit, these two abandonedvillains were so much alike in other respects as to lead at once to theconclusion that they were brothers. Jack was the cleaner man and thebetter dressed of the two. I admit that, at the outset. It is, perhaps, one of my failings to push justice and impartiality to their utmostlimits. I am no Pharisee; and where Vice has its redeeming point, I say, let Vice have its due--yes, yes, by all manner of means, let Vice haveits due. 

"What's the matter now, Jack?" says Mr. Jay. 

"Can't you see it in my face?" says Jack. "My dear fellow, delays aredangerous. Let us have done with suspense, and risk it, the day afterto-morrow. "

"So soon as that?" cries Mr. Jay, looking very much astonished. "Well, I'm ready, if you are. But, I say, Jack, is somebody else ready too? Areyou quite sure of that?"

He smiled as he spoke--a frightful smile--and laid a very strongemphasis on those two words, "Somebody else. " There is evidently a thirdruffian, a nameless desperado, concerned in the business. 

"Meet us to-morrow, " says Jack, "and judge for yourself. Be in theRegent's Park at eleven in the morning, and look out for us at theturning that leads to the Avenue Road. "

"I'll be there, " says Mr. Jay. "Have a drop of brandy and water? Whatare you getting up for? You're not going already?"

"Yes I am, " says Jack. "The fact is, I'm so excited and agitated that Ican't sit still anywhere for five minutes together. Ridiculous as it mayappear to you, I'm in a perpetual state of nervous flutter. I can't, forthe life of me, help fearing that we shall be found out. I fancy thatevery man who looks twice at me in the street is a spy--"

At these words I thought my legs would have given way under me. Nothingbut strength of mind kept me at my peep-hole--nothing else, I give youmy word of honour. 

"Stuff and nonsense!" cries Mr. Jay, with all the effrontery of aveteran in crime. "We have kept the secret up to this time, and we willmanage cleverly to the end. Have a drop of brandy and water, and youwill feel as certain about it as I do. "

Jack steadily refused the brandy and water, and steadily persisted intaking his leave. 

"I must try if I can't walk it off, " he said. "Remember to-morrowmorning--eleven o'clock, Avenue Road, side of the Regent's Park. "

With those words he went out. His hardened relative laughed desperatelyand resumed the dirty clay pipe. 

I sat down on the side of my bed, actually quivering with excitement. 

It is clear to me that no attempt has yet been made to change the stolenbank-notes, and I may add that Sergeant Bulmer was of that opinion alsowhen he left the case in my hands. What is the natural conclusion todraw from the conversation which I have just set down? Evidently thatthe confederates meet to-morrow to take their respective shares in thestolen money, and to decide on the safest means of getting the noteschanged the day after. Mr. Jay is, beyond a doubt, the leading criminalin this business, and he will probably run the chief risk--that ofchanging the fifty-pound note. I shall, therefore, still make it mybusiness to follow him--attending at the Regent's Park to-morrow, anddoing my best to hear what is said there. If another appointment ismade for the day after, I shall, of course, go to it. In the meantime, Ishall want the immediate assistance of two competent persons (supposingthe rascals separate after their meeting) to follow the two minorcriminals. It is only fair to add that, if the rogues all retiretogether, I shall probably keep my subordinates in reserve. Beingnaturally ambitious, I desire, if possible, to have the whole credit ofdiscovering this robbery to myself. 

 8th July. 

I have to acknowledge, with thanks, the speedy arrival of my twosubordinates--men of very average abilities, I am afraid; but, fortunately, I shall always be on the spot to direct them. 

My first business this morning was necessarily to prevent possiblemistakes by accounting to Mr. And Mrs. Yatman for the presence of twostrangers on the scene. Mr. Yatman (between ourselves, a poor, feebleman) only shook his head and groaned. Mrs. Yatman (that superior woman)favoured me with a charming look of intelligence. 

"Oh, Mr. Sharpin!" she said, "I am so sorry to see those two men! Yoursending for their assistance looks as if you were beginning to bedoubtful of success. "

I privately winked at her (she is very good in allowing me to do sowithout taking offence), and told her, in my facetious way, that shelaboured under a slight mistake. 

"It is because I am sure of success, ma'am, that I send for them. I amdetermined to recover the money, not for my own sake only, but for Mr. Yatman's sake--and for yours. "

I laid a considerable amount of stress on those last three words. Shesaid, "Oh, Mr. Sharpin!" again, and blushed of a heavenly red, andlooked down at her work. I could go to the world's end with that womanif Mr. Yatman would only die. 

I sent off the two subordinates to wait until I wanted them at theAvenue Road gate of the Regent's Park. Half an hour afterward I wasfollowing the same direction myself at the heels of Mr. Jay. 

The two confederates were punctual to the appointed time. I blush torecord it, but it is nevertheless necessary to state that the thirdrogue--the nameless desperado of my report, or, if you prefer it, themysterious "somebody else" of the conversation between the twobrothers--is--a woman! and, what is worse, a young woman! and, what ismore lamentable still, a nice-looking woman! I have long resisted agrowing conviction that, wherever there is mischief in this world, anindividual of the fair sex is inevitably certain to be mixed up in it. After the experience of this morning, I can struggle against that sadconclusion no longer. I give up the sex--excepting Mrs. Yatman, I giveup the sex. 

The man named "Jack" offered the woman his arm. Mr. Jay placed himselfon the other side of her. The three then walked away slowly among thetrees. I followed them at a respectful distance. My two subordinates, ata respectful distance also, followed me. 

It was, I deeply regret to say, impossible to get near enough to them tooverhear their conversation without running too great a risk of beingdiscovered. I could only infer from their gestures and actions that theywere all three talking with extraordinary earnestness on some subjectwhich deeply interested them. After having been engaged in this way afull quarter of an hour, they suddenly turned round to retrace theirsteps. My presence of mind did not forsake me in this emergency. Isigned to the two subordinates to walk on carelessly and pass them, while I myself slipped dexterously behind a tree. As they came by me, Iheard "Jack" address these words to Mr. Jay:

"Let us say half past ten to-morrow morning. And mind you come in a cab. We had better not risk taking one in this neighbourhood. "

Mr. Jay made some brief reply which I could not overhear. They walkedback to the place at which they had met, shaking hands there with anaudacious cordiality which it quite sickened me to see. They thenseparated. I followed Mr. Jay. My subordinates paid the same delicateattention to the other two. 

Instead of taking me back to Rutherford Street, Mr. Jay led me to theStrand. He stopped at a dingy, disreputable-looking house, which, according to the inscription over the door, was a newspaper office, butwhich, in my judgment, had all the external appearance of a placedevoted to the reception of stolen goods. 

After remaining inside for a few minutes, he came out whistling, withhis finger and thumb in his waistcoat pocket. Some men would now havearrested him on the spot. I remembered the necessity of catching the twoconfederates, and the importance of not interfering with the appointmentthat had been made for the next morning. Such coolness as this, undertrying circumstances, is rarely to be found, I should imagine, in ayoung beginner, whose reputation as a detective policeman is still tomake. 

From the house of suspicious appearance Mr. Jay betook himself to acigar-divan, and read the magazines over a cheroot. From the divan hestrolled to the tavern and had his chops. I strolled to the tavern andhad my chops. When he had done he went back to his lodging. When I haddone I went back to mine. He was overcome with drowsiness early in theevening, and went to bed. As soon as I heard him snoring, I was overcomewith drowsiness and went to bed also. 

Early in the morning my two subordinates came to make their report. 

They had seen the man named "Jack" leave the woman at the gate of anapparently respectable villa residence not far from the Regent's Park. Left to himself, he took a turning to the right, which led to a sort ofsuburban street, principally inhabited by shopkeepers. He stopped at theprivate door of one of the houses, and let himself in with his ownkey--looking about him as he opened the door, and staring suspiciouslyat my men as they lounged along on the opposite side of the way. Thesewere all the particulars which the subordinates had to communicate. Ikept them in my room to attend on me, if needful, and mounted to mypeep-hole to have a look at Mr. Jay. 

He was occupied in dressing himself, and was taking extraordinary painsto destroy all traces of the natural slovenliness of his appearance. This was precisely what I expected. A vagabond like Mr. Jay knows theimportance of giving himself a respectable look when he is going to runthe risk of changing a stolen bank-note. At five minutes past teno'clock he had given the last brush to his shabby hat and the lastscouring with bread-crumb to his dirty gloves. At ten minutes past tenhe was in the street, on his way to the nearest cab-stand, and I and mysubordinates were close on his heels. 

He took a cab, and we took a cab. I had not overheard them appoint aplace of meeting when following them in the Park on the previous day, but I soon found that we were proceeding in the old direction of theAvenue Road gate. The cab in which Mr. Jay was riding turned into thePark slowly. We stopped outside, to avoid exciting suspicion. I got outto follow the cab on foot. Just as I did so, I saw it stop, anddetected the two confederates approaching it from among the trees. Theygot in, and the cab was turned about directly. I ran back to my own cab, and told the driver to let them pass him, and then to follow as before. 

The man obeyed my directions, but so clumsily as to excite theirsuspicions. We had been driving after them about three minutes(returning along the road by which we had advanced) when I looked out ofthe window to see how far they might be ahead of us. As I did this, Isaw two hats popped out of the windows of their cab, and two faceslooking back at me. I sank into my place in a cold sweat; the expressionis coarse, but no other form of words can describe my condition at thattrying moment. 

"We are found out!" I said, faintly, to my two subordinates. They staredat me in astonishment. My feelings changed instantly from the depth ofdespair to the height of indignation. 

"It is the cabman's fault. Get out, one of you, " I said, withdignity--"get out, and punch his head. "

Instead of following my directions (I should wish this act ofdisobedience to be reported at headquarters) they both looked out of thewindow. Before I could express my just indignation, they both grinned, and said to me, "Please to look out, sir!"

I did look out. Their cab had stopped. 

Where?

At a church door!

What effect this discovery might have had upon the ordinary run of menI don't know. Being of a strong religious turn myself, it filled me withhorror. I have often read of the unprincipled cunning of criminalpersons, but I never before heard of three thieves attempting to doubleon their pursuers by entering a church! The sacrilegious audacity ofthat proceeding is, I should think, unparalleled in the annals of crime. 

I checked my grinning subordinates by a frown. It was easy to see whatwas passing in their superficial minds. If I had not been able to lookbelow the surface, I might, on observing two nicely-dressed men and onenicely-dressed woman enter a church before eleven in the morning on aweek day, have come to the same hasty conclusion at which my inferiorshad evidently arrived. As it was, appearances had no power to impose on_me_. I got out, and, followed by one of my men, entered the church. Theother man I sent round to watch the vestry door. You may catch a weaselasleep, but not your humble servant, Matthew Sharpin!

We stole up the gallery stairs, diverged to the organ-loft, and peeredthrough the curtains in front. There they were, all three, sitting in apew below--yes, incredible as it may appear, sitting in a pew below!

Before I could determine what to do, a clergyman made his appearance infull canonicals from the vestry door, followed by a clerk. My brainwhirled and my eyesight grew dim. Dark remembrances of robberiescommitted in vestries floated through my mind. I trembled for theexcellent man in full canonicals--I even trembled for the clerk. 

The clergyman placed himself inside the altar rails. The threedesperadoes approached him. He opened his book, and began to read. What?you will ask. 

I answer, without the slightest hesitation, the first lines of theMarriage Service. 

My subordinate had the audacity to look at me, and then to stuff hispocket-handkerchief into his mouth. I scorned to pay any attention tohim. After I had discovered that the man "Jack" was the bridegroom, andthat the man Jay acted the part of father, and gave away the bride, Ileft the church, followed by my men, and joined the other subordinateoutside the vestry door. Some people in my position would now have feltrather crestfallen, and would have begun to think that they had made avery foolish mistake. Not the faintest misgiving of any kind troubledme. I did not feel in the slightest degree depreciated in my ownestimation. And even now, after a lapse of three hours, my mind remains, I am happy to say, in the same calm and hopeful condition. 

As soon as I and my subordinates were assembled together outside thechurch, I intimated my intention of still following the other cab inspite of what had occurred. My reason for deciding on this course willappear presently. The two subordinates appeared to be astonished at myresolution. One of them had the impertinence to say to me, "If you please, sir, who is it that we are after? A man who has stolenmoney, or a man who has stolen a wife?"

The other low person encouraged him by laughing. Both have deserved anofficial reprimand, and both, I sincerely trust, will be sure to get it. 

When the marriage ceremony was over, the three got into their cab, andonce more our vehicle (neatly hidden round the corner of the church)started to follow theirs. 

We traced them to the terminus of the Southwestern Railway. Thenewly-married couple took tickets for Richmond, paying their fare with ahalf sovereign, and so depriving me of the pleasure of arresting them, which I should certainly have done if they had offered a banknote. Theyparted from Mr. Jay, saying, "Remember the address--14 Babylon Terrace. You dine with us to-morrow week. " Mr. Jay accepted the invitation, andadded, jocosely, that he was going home at once to get off his cleanclothes, and to be comfortable and dirty again for the rest of the day. I have to report that I saw him home safely, and that he is comfortableand dirty again (to use his own disgraceful language) at the presentmoment. 

Here the affair rests, having by this time reached what I may call itsfirst stage. 

I know very well what persons of hasty judgment will be inclined to sayof my proceedings thus far. They will assert that I have been deceivingmyself all through in the most absurd way; they will declare that thesuspicious conversations which I have reported referred solely to thedifficulties and dangers of successfully carrying out a runaway match;and they will appeal to the scene in the church as offering undeniableproof of the correctness of their assertions. So let it be. I disputenothing up to this point. But I ask a question, out of the depths of myown sagacity as a man of the world, which the bitterest of my enemieswill not, I think, find it particularly easy to answer. 

Granted the fact of the marriage, what proof does it afford me of theinnocence of the three persons concerned in that clandestinetransaction? It gives me none. On the contrary, it strengthens mysuspicions against Mr. Jay and his confederates, because it suggests adistinct motive for their stealing the money. A gentleman who is goingto spend his honeymoon at Richmond wants money; and a gentleman who isin debt to all his tradespeople wants money. Is this an unjustifiableimputation of bad motives? In the name of outraged Morality, I deny it. These men have combined together, and have stolen a woman. Why shouldthey not combine together and steal a cash-box? I take my stand on thelogic of rigid Virtue, and I defy all the sophistry of Vice to move mean inch out of my position. 

Speaking of virtue, I may add that I have put this view of the case toMr. And Mrs. Yatman. That accomplished and charming woman found itdifficult at first to follow the close chain of my reasoning. I am freeto confess that she shook her head, and shed tears, and joined herhusband in premature lamentation over the loss of the two hundredpounds. But a little careful explanation on my part, and a littleattentive listening on hers, ultimately changed her opinion. She nowagrees with me that there is nothing in this unexpected circumstance ofthe clandestine marriage which absolutely tends to divert suspicion fromMr. Jay, or Mr. "Jack, " or the runaway lady. "Audacious hussy" was theterm my fair friend used in speaking of her; but let that pass. It ismore to the purpose to record that Mrs. Yatman has not lost confidencein me, and that Mr. Yatman promises to follow her example, and do hisbest to look hopefully for future results. 

I have now, in the new turn that circumstances have taken, to awaitadvice from your office. I pause for fresh orders with all the composureof a man who has got two strings to his bow. When I traced the threeconfederates from the church door to the railway terminus, I had twomotives for doing so. First, I followed them as a matter of officialbusiness, believing them still to have been guilty of the robbery. Secondly, I followed them as a matter of private speculation, with aview of discovering the place of refuge to which the runaway coupleintended to retreat, and of making my information a marketablecommodity to offer to the young lady's family and friends. Thus, whatever happens, I may congratulate myself beforehand on not havingwasted my time. If the office approves of my conduct, I have my planready for further proceedings. If the office blames me, I shall takemyself off, with my marketable information, to the genteel villaresidence in the neighbourhood of the Regent's Park. Any way, the affairputs money into my pocket, and does credit to my penetration as anuncommonly sharp man. 

I have only one word more to add, and it is this: If any individualventures to assert that Mr. Jay and his confederates are innocent of allshare in the stealing of the cash-box, I, in return, defy thatindividual--though he may even be the Chief Inspector Theakstonehimself--to tell me who has committed the robbery at Rutherford Street, Soho. 

Strong in that conviction, I have the honour to be your very obedientservant, MATTHEW SHARPIN. 

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE TO SERGEANT BULMER. 

 Birmingham, July 9th. 

SERGEANT BULMER, --That empty-headed puppy, Mr. Matthew Sharpin, has madea mess of the case at Rutherford Street, exactly as I expected hewould. Business keeps me in this town, so I write to you to set thematter straight. I inclose with this the pages of feeblescribble-scrabble which the creature Sharpin calls a report. Look themover; and when you have made your way through all the gabble, I thinkyou will agree with me that the conceited booby has looked for the thiefin every direction but the right one. You can lay your hand on theguilty person in five minutes, now. Settle the case at once; forwardyour report to me at this place, and tell Mr. Sharpin that he issuspended till further notice. 

 Yours, FRANCIS THEAKSTONE. 

FROM SERGEANT BULMER TO CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE. 

 London, July 10th. 

INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE, --Your letter and inclosure came safe to hand. Wisemen, they say, may always learn something even from a fool. By the timeI had got through Sharpin's maundering report of his own folly, I saw myway clear enough to the end of the Rutherford Street case, just as youthought I should. In half an hour's time I was at the house. The firstperson I saw there was Mr. Sharpin himself. 

"Have you come to help me?" says he. 

"Not exactly, " says I. "I've come to tell you that you are suspendedtill further notice. "

"Very good, " says he, not taken down by so much as a single peg in hisown estimation. "I thought you would be jealous of me. It's verynatural; and I don't blame you. Walk in, pray, and make yourself athome. I'm off to do a little detective business on my own account, inthe neighbourhood of the Regent's Park. Ta-ta, sergeant, ta-ta!"

With those words he took himself out of the way, which was exactly whatI wanted him to do. 

As soon as the maid-servant had shut the door, I told her to inform hermaster that I wanted to say a word to him in private. She showed me intothe parlour behind the shop, and there was Mr. Yatman all alone, readingthe newspaper. 

"About this matter of the robbery, sir, " says I. 

He cut me short, peevishly enough, being naturally a poor, weak, womanish sort of man. "Yes, yes, I know, " says he. "You have come totell me that your wonderfully clever man, who has bored holes in mysecond-floor partition, has made a mistake, and is off the scent of thescoundrel who has stolen my money. "

"Yes, sir, " says I. "That _is_ one of the things I came to tell you. ButI have got something else to say besides that. "

"Can you tell me who the thief is?" says he more pettish than ever. 

"Yes, sir, " says I, "I think I can. "

He put down the newspaper, and began to look rather anxious andfrightened. 

"Not my shopman?" says he. "I hope, for the man's own sake, it's not myshopman. "

"Guess again, sir, " says I. 

"That idle slut, the maid?" says he. 

"She is idle, sir, " says I, "and she is also a slut; my first inquiriesabout her proved as much as that. But she's not the thief. "

"Then, in the name of heaven, who is?" says he. 

"Will you please to prepare yourself for a very disagreeable surprise, sir?" says I. "And, in case you lose your temper, will you excuseremarking that I am the stronger man of the two, and that, if you allowyourself to lay hands on me, I may unintentionally hurt you, in pureself-defence. "

He turned as pale as ashes, and pushed his chair two or three feet awayfrom me. 

"You have asked me to tell you, sir, who has taken your money, " I wenton. "If you insist on my giving you an answer--"

"I do insist, " he said, faintly. "Who has taken it?"

"Your wife has taken it, " I said, very quietly, and very positively atthe same time. 

He jumped out of the chair as if I had put a knife into him, and struckhis fist on the table so heavily that the wood cracked again. 

"Steady, sir, " says I. "Flying into a passion won't help you to thetruth. "

"It's a lie!" says he, with another smack of his fist on the table--"abase, vile, infamous lie! How dare you--"

He stopped, and fell back into the chair again, looked about him in abewildered way, and ended by bursting out crying. 

"When your better sense comes back to you, sir, " says I, "I am sure youwill be gentleman enough to make an apology for the language you havejust used. In the mean time, please to listen, if you can, to a word ofexplanation. Mr. Sharpin has sent in a report to our inspector of themost irregular and ridiculous kind, setting down not only all his ownfoolish doings and sayings, but the doings and sayings of Mrs. Yatman aswell. In most cases, such a document would have been fit only for thewastepaper basket; but in this particular case it so happens that Mr. Sharpin's budget of nonsense leads to a certain conclusion, which thesimpleton of a writer has been quite innocent of suspecting from thebeginning to the end. Of that conclusion I am so sure that I willforfeit my place if it does not turn out that Mrs. Yatman has beenpractising upon the folly and conceit of this young man, and that shehas tried to shield herself from discovery by purposely encouraging himto suspect the wrong persons. I tell you that confidently; and I willeven go farther. I will undertake to give a decided opinion as to whyMrs. Yatman took the money, and what she has done with it, or with apart of it. Nobody can look at that lady, sir, without being struck bythe great taste and beauty of her dress--"

As I said those last words, the poor man seemed to find his powers ofspeech again. He cut me short directly as haughtily as if he had been aduke instead of a stationer. 

"Try some other means of justifying your vile calumny against my wife, "says he. "Her milliner's bill for the past year is on my file ofreceipted accounts at this moment. "

"Excuse me, sir, " says I, "but that proves nothing. Milliners, I musttell you, have a certain rascally custom which comes within the dailyexperience of our office. A married lady who wished it can keep twoaccounts at her dressmaker's: one is the account which her husband seesand pays; the other is the private account, which contains all theextravagant items, and which the wife pays secretly, by installments, whenever she can. According to our usual experience, these installmentsare mostly squeezed out of the housekeeping money. In your case, Isuspect, no installments have been paid; proceedings have beenthreatened; Mrs. Yatman, knowing your altered circumstances, has feltherself driven into a corner, and she has paid her private account outof your cash-box. "

"I won't believe it, " says he. "Every word you speak is an abominableinsult to me and to my wife. "

"Are you man enough, sir, " says I, taking him up short, in order to savetime and words, "to get that receipted bill you spoke of just now offthe file, and come with me at once to the milliner's shop where Mrs. Yatman deals?"

He turned red in the face at that, got the bill directly, and put on hishat. I took out of my pocketbook the list containing the numbers of thelost notes, and we left the house together immediately. 

Arrived at the milliner's (one of the expensive West-end houses, as Iexpected), I asked for a private interview, on important business, withthe mistress of the concern. It was not the first time that she and Ihad met over the same delicate investigation. The moment she set eyes onme she sent for her husband. I mentioned who Mr. Yatman was, and what wewanted. 

"This is strictly private?" inquires the husband. I nodded my head. 

"And confidential?" says the wife. I nodded again. 

"Do you see any objection, dear, to obliging the sergeant with a sightof the books?" says her husband. 

"None in the world, love, if you approve of it, " says the wife. 

All this while poor Mr. Yatman sat looking the picture of astonishmentand distress, quite out of place at our polite conference. The bookswere brought, and one minute's look at the pages in which Mrs. Yatman'sname figured was enough, and more than enough, to prove the truth ofevery word that I had spoken. 

There, in one book, was the husband's account which Mr. Yatman hadsettled; and there, in the other, was the private account, crossed offalso, the date of settlement being the very day after the loss of thecash-box. This said private account amounted to the sum of a hundred andseventy-five pounds, odd shillings, and it extended over a period ofthree years. Not a single installment had been paid on it. Under thelast line was an entry to this effect: "Written to for the third time, June 23d. " I pointed to it, and asked the milliner if that meant "lastJune. " Yes, it did mean last June; and she now deeply regretted to saythat it had been accompanied by a threat of legal proceedings. 

"I thought you gave good customers more than three years' credit?" saysI. 

The milliner looks at Mr. Yatman, and whispers to me, "Not when a lady'shusband gets into difficulties. "

She pointed to the account as she spoke. The entries after the time whenMr. Yatman's circumstances became involved were just as extravagant fora person in his wife's situation, as the entries for the year beforethat period. If the lady had economized in other things, she hadcertainly not economized in the matter of dress. 

There was nothing left now but to examine the cash-book, for form'ssake. The money had been paid in notes, the amounts and numbers of whichexactly tallied with the figures set down in my list. 

After that, I thought it best to get Mr. Yatman out of the houseimmediately. He was in such a pitiable condition that I called a caband accompanied him home in it. At first he cried and raved like achild; but I soon quieted him; and I must add, to his credit, that hemade me a most handsome apology for his language as the cab drew up athis house door. In return, I tried to give him some advice about how toset matters right for the future with his wife. He paid very littleattention to me, and went up stairs muttering to himself about aseparation. Whether Mrs. Yatman will come cleverly out of the scrape ornot seems doubtful. I should say myself that she would go intoscreeching hysterics, and so frighten the poor man into forgiving her. But this is no business of ours. So far as we are concerned, the case isnow at an end, and the present report may come to a conclusion alongwith it. 

I remain, accordingly, yours to command, THOMAS BULMER. 

_P. S. _--I have to add that, on leaving Rutherford Street, I met Mr. Matthew Sharpin coming to pack up his things. 

"Only think!" says he, rubbing his hands in great spirits, "I've been tothe genteel villa residence, and the moment I mentioned my business theykicked me out directly. There were two witnesses of the assault, andit's worth a hundred pounds to me if it's worth a farthing. "

"I wish you joy of your luck, " says I. 

"Thank you, " says he. "When may I pay you the same compliment on findingthe thief?"

"Whenever you like, " says I, "for the thief is found. "

"Just what I expected, " says he. "I've done all the work, and now youcut in and claim all the credit--Mr. Jay, of course. "

"No, " says I. 

"Who is it then?" says he. 

"Ask Mrs. Yatman, " says I. "She's waiting to tell you. "

"All right! I'd much rather hear it from that charming woman than fromyou, " says he, and goes into the house in a mighty hurry. 

What do you think of that, Inspector Theakstone? Would you like to standin Mr. Sharpin's shoes? I shouldn't, I can promise you. 

FROM CHIEF INSPECTOR THEAKSTONE TO MR. MATTHEW SHARPIN. 

 July 12th. 

SIR, --Sergeant Bulmer has already told you to consider yourselfsuspended until further notice. I have now authority to add that yourservices as a member of the Detective Police are positively declined. You will please to take this letter as notifying officially yourdismissal from the force. 

I may inform you, privately, that your rejection is not intended to castany reflections on your character. It merely implies that you are notquite sharp enough for our purposes. If we _are_ to have a new recruitamong us, we should infinitely prefer Mrs. Yatman. 

 Your obedient servant, FRANCIS THEAKSTONE. 

NOTE ON THE PRECEDING CORRESPONDENCE, ADDED BY MR. THEAKSTONE. 

 The inspector is not in a position to append any explanation of importance to the last of the letters. It has been discovered that Mr. Matthew Sharpin left the house in Rutherford Street five minutes after his interview outside of it with Sergeant Bulmer, his manner expressing the liveliest emotions of terror and astonishment, and his left cheek displaying a bright patch of red, which looked as if it might have been the result of what is popularly termed a smart box on the ear. He was also heard by the shopman at Rutherford Street to use a very shocking expression in reference to Mrs. Yatman, and was seen to clench his fist vindictively as he ran round the corner of the street. Nothing more has been heard of him; and it is conjectured that he has left London with the intention of offering his valuable services to the provincial police. 

 On the interesting domestic subject of Mr. And Mrs. Yatman still less is known. It has, however, been positively ascertained that the medical attendant of the family was sent for in a great hurry on the day when Mr. Yatman returned from the milliner's shop. The neighbouring chemist received, soon afterward, a prescription of a soothing nature to make up for Mrs. Yatman. The day after, Mr. Yatman purchased some smelling-salts at the shop, and afterward appeared at the circulating library to ask for a novel descriptive of high life that would amuse an invalid lady. It has been inferred from these circumstances that he has not thought it desirable to carry out his threat of separating from his wife, at least in the present (presumed) condition of that lady's sensitive nervous system. 

IV

MISSING: PAGE THIRTEEN[B]

ANNA KATHERINE GREEN[C]

I

"One more! just one more well-paying affair, and I promise to stop;really and truly to stop. "

"But, Puss, why one more? You have earned the amount you set foryourself, --or very nearly, --and though my help is not great, in threemonths I can add enough--"

"No, you cannot, Arthur. You are doing well; I appreciate it; in fact, Iam just delighted to have you work for me in the way you do, but youcannot, in your position, make enough in three months, or in six, tomeet the situation as I see it. Enough does not satisfy me. The measuremust be full, heaped up, and running over. Possible failure followingpromise must be provided for. Never must I feel myself called upon to dothis kind of thing again. Besides, I have never got over the Zabriskietragedy. It haunts me continually. Something new may help to put it outof my head. I feel guilty. I was responsible--"

"No, Puss. I will not have it that you were responsible. Some such endwas bound to follow a complication like that. Sooner or later he wouldhave been driven to shoot himself--"

"But not her. "

"No, not her. But do you think she would have given those few minutes ofperfect understanding with her blind husband for a few years more ofmiserable life?"

Violet made no answer; she was too absorbed in her surprise. Was thisArthur? Had a few weeks' work and a close connection with the reallyserious things of life made this change in him? Her face beamed at thethought, which seeing, but not understanding what underlay this evidenceof joy, he bent and kissed her, saying with some of his old nonchalance:

"Forget it, Violet; only don't let anyone or anything lead you tointerest yourself in another affair of the kind. If you do, I shall haveto consult a certain friend of yours as to the best way of stopping thisfolly. I mention no names. Oh! you need not look so frightened. Onlybehave; that's all. "

"He's right, " she acknowledged to herself, as he sauntered away;"altogether right. "

Yet because she wanted the extra money--

 * * * * *

The scene invited alarm, --that is, for so young a girl as Violet, surveying it from an automobile some time after the stroke of midnight. An unknown house at the end of a heavily shaded walk, in the opendoorway of which could be seen the silhouette of a woman's form leaningeagerly forward with arms outstretched in an appeal for help! Itvanished while she looked, but the effect remained, holding her to herseat for one startled moment. This seemed strange, for she hadanticipated adventure. One is not summoned from a private ball to ride adozen miles into the country on an errand of investigation, without someexpectation of encountering the mysterious and the tragic. But VioletStrange, for all her many experiences, was of a most susceptible nature, and for the instant in which that door stood open, with only the memoryof that expectant figure to disturb the faintly lit vista of the hallbeyond, she felt that grip upon the throat which comes from anindefinable fear which no words can explain and no plummet sound. 

But this soon passed. With the setting of her foot to ground, conditionschanged and her emotions took on a more normal character. The figure ofa man now stood in the place held by the vanished woman, and it was notonly that of one she knew but that of one whom she trusted--a friendwhose very presence gave her courage. With this recognition came abetter understanding of the situation, and it was with a beaming eye andunclouded features that she tripped up the walk to meet the expectantfigure and outstretched hand of Roger Upjohn. 

"You here!" she exclaimed, amid smiles and blushes, as he drew her intothe hall. 

He at once launched forth into explanations mingled with apologies forthe presumption he had shown in putting her to this inconvenience. Therewas trouble in the house--great trouble. Something had occurred forwhich an explanation must be found before morning, or the happiness andhonour of more than one person now under this unhappy roof would bewrecked. He knew it was late--that she had been obliged to take a longand dreary ride alone, but her success with the problem which had oncecome near wrecking his own life had emboldened him to telephone to theoffice and--"But you are in ball-dress, " he cried in amazement. "Did youthink--"

"I came from a ball. Word reached me between the dances. I did not gohome. I had been bidden to hurry. "

He looked his appreciation, but when he spoke it was to say:

"This is the situation. Miss Digby--"

"The lady who is to be married to-morrow?"

"Who _hopes_ to be married to-morrow. "

"How, _hopes_?"

"Who _will_ be married to-morrow, if a certain article lost in thishouse to-night can be found before any of the persons who have beendining here leave for their homes. "

Violet uttered an exclamation. 

"Then, Mr. Cornell--" she began. 

"Mr. Cornell has our utmost confidence, " Roger hastened to interpose. "But the article missing is one which he might reasonably desire topossess and which he alone of all present had the opportunity ofsecuring. You can therefore see why he, with his pride--the pride of aman not rich, engaged to marry a woman who is--should declare thatunless his innocence is established before daybreak, the doors of St. Bartholomew will remain shut to-morrow. "

"But the article lost--what is it?"

"Miss Digby will give you the particulars. She is waiting to receiveyou, " he added with a gesture towards a half-open door at their right. 

Violet glanced that way, then cast her looks up and down the hall inwhich they stood. 

"Do you know that you have not told me in whose house I am? Not hers, Iknow. She lives in the city. "

"And you are twelve miles from Harlem. Miss Strange, you are in the VanBroecklyn mansion, famous enough you will acknowledge. Have you neverbeen here before?"

"I have been by here, but I recognized nothing in the dark. What anexciting place for an investigation!"

"And Mr. Van Broecklyn? Have you never met him?"

"Once, when a child. He frightened me _then_. "

"And may frighten you now; though I doubt it. Time has mellowed him. Besides, I have prepared him for what might otherwise occasion him someastonishment. Naturally he would not look for just the sort of ladyinvestigator I am about to introduce to him. "

She smiled. Violet Strange was a very charming young woman, as well as akeen prober of odd mysteries. 

The meeting between herself and Miss Digby was a sympathetic one. Afterthe first inevitable shock which the latter felt at sight of the beautyand fashionable appearance of the mysterious little being who was tosolve her difficulties, her glance, which under other circumstancesmight have lingered unduly upon the piquant features and exquisitedressing of the fairy-like figure before her, passed at once to Violet'seyes in whose steady depths beamed an intelligence quite at odds withthe coquettish dimples which so often misled the casual observer in hisestimation of a character singularly subtle and well-poised. 

As for the impression she herself made upon Violet--it was the same shemade upon everyone. No one could look long at Florence Digby and notrecognize the loftiness of her spirit and the generous nature of herimpulses. In person she was tall, and as she leaned to take Violet'shand, the difference between them brought out the salient points ineach, to the great admiration of the one onlooker. 

Meantime for all her interest in the case in hand, Violet could not helpcasting a hurried look about her, in gratification of the curiosityincited by her entrance into a house signalized from its foundation bysuch a series of tragic events. The result was disappointing. The wallswere plain, the furniture simple. Nothing suggestive in either, unlessit was the fact that nothing was new, nothing modern. As it looked inthe days of Burr and Hamilton so it looked to-day, even to the ratherstartling detail of candles which did duty on every side in place ofgas. 

As Violet recalled the reason for this the fascination of the pastseized upon her imagination. There was no knowing where this might havecarried her, had not the feverish gleam in Miss Digby's eyes warned herthat the present held its own excitement. Instantly, she was allattention and listening with undivided mind to that lady's disclosures. 

They were brief and to the following effect:

The dinner which had brought some half-dozen people together in thishouse had been given in celebration of her impending marriage. But itwas also in a way meant as a compliment to one of the other guests, aMr. Spielhagen, who, during the week, had succeeded in demonstrating toa few experts the value of a discovery he had made which would transforma great industry. 

In speaking of this discovery, Miss Digby did not go into particulars, the whole matter being far beyond her understanding; but in stating itsvalue she openly acknowledged that it was in the line of Mr. Cornell'sown work, and one which involved calculations and a formula which, ifprematurely disclosed, would invalidate the contract Mr. Spielhagenhoped to make, and thus destroy his present hopes. 

Of this formula but two copies existed. One was locked up in asafe-deposit vault in Boston, the other he had brought into the house onhis person, and it was the latter which was now missing, it having beenabstracted during the evening from a manuscript of sixteen or moresheets, under circumstances which he would now endeavour to relate. 

Mr. Van Broecklyn, their host, had in his melancholy life but oneinterest which could be called at all absorbing. This was forexplosives. As a consequence, much of the talk at the dinner-table hadbeen on Mr. Spielhagen's discovery, and the possible changes it mightintroduce into this especial industry. As these, worked out from aformula kept secret from the trade, could not but affect greatly Mr. Cornell's interests, she found herself listening intently, when Mr. VanBroecklyn, with an apology for his interference, ventured to remark thatif Mr. Spielhagen had made a valuable discovery in this line, so had he, and one which he had substantiated by many experiments. It was not amarketable one, such as Mr. Spielhagen's was, but in his work upon thesame, and in the tests which he had been led to make, he had discoveredcertain instances he would gladly name, which demanded exceptionalprocedure to be successful. If Mr. Spielhagen's method did not allow forthese exceptions, nor make suitable provision for them, then Mr. Spielhagen's method would fail more times than it would succeed. Did itso allow and so provide? It would relieve him greatly to learn that itdid. 

The answer came quickly. Yes, it did. But later and after some furtherconversation, Mr. Spielhagen's confidence seemed to wane, and beforethey left the dinner-table, he openly declared his intention of lookingover his manuscript again that very night, in order to be sure that theformula therein contained duly covered all the exceptions mentioned byMr. Van Broecklyn. 

If Mr. Cornell's countenance showed any change at this moment, she forone had not noticed it; but the bitterness with which he remarked uponthe other's good fortune in having discovered this formula of whoseentire success he had no doubt, was apparent to everybody, and naturallygave point to the circumstances which a short time afterward associatedhim with the disappearance of the same. 

The ladies (there were two others besides herself) having withdrawn in abody to the music-room, the gentlemen all proceeded to the library tosmoke. Here, conversation loosed from the one topic which had hithertoengrossed it, was proceeding briskly, when Mr. Spielhagen, with anervous gesture, impulsively looked about him and said:

"I cannot rest till I have run through my thesis again. Where can I finda quiet spot? I won't be long; I read very rapidly. "

It was for Mr. Van Broecklyn to answer, but no word coming from him, every eye turned his way, only to find him sunk in one of those fits ofabstraction so well known to his friends, and from which no one who hasthis strange man's peace of mind at heart ever presumes to rouse him. 

What was to be done? These moods of their singular host sometimes lastedhalf an hour, and Mr. Spielhagen had not the appearance of a man ofpatience. Indeed he presently gave proof of the great uneasiness he waslabouring under, for noticing a door standing ajar on the other side ofthe room, he remarked to those around him:

"A den! and lighted! Do you see any objection to my shutting myself inthere for a few minutes?"

No one venturing to reply, he rose, and giving a slight push to thedoor, disclosed a small room exquisitely panelled and brightly lighted, but without one article of furniture in it, not even a chair. 

"The very place, " quoth Mr. Spielhagen, and lifting a lightcane-bottomed chair from the many standing about, he carried it insideand shut the door behind him. 

Several minutes passed during which the man who had served at tableentered with a tray on which were several small glasses evidentlycontaining some choice liqueur. Finding his master fixed in one of hisstrange moods, he set the tray down and, pointing to one of the glasses, said:

"That is for Mr. Van Broecklyn. It contains his usual quieting powder. "And urging the gentlemen to help themselves, he quietly left the room. 

Mr. Upjohn lifted the glass nearest him, and Mr. Cornell seemed about todo the same when he suddenly reached forward and catching up one fartheroff started for the room in which Mr. Spielhagen had so deliberatelysecluded himself. 

Why he did all this--why, above all things, he should reach across thetray for a glass instead of taking the one under his hand, he can nomore explain than why he has followed many another unhappy impulse. Nordid he understand the nervous start given by Mr. Spielhagen at hisentrance, or the stare with which that gentleman took the glass from hishand and mechanically drank its contents, till he saw how his hand hadstretched itself across the sheet of paper he was reading, in an openattempt to hide the lines visible between his fingers. Then indeed theintruder flushed and withdrew in great embarrassment, fully conscious ofhis indiscretion but not deeply disturbed till Mr. Van Broecklyn, suddenly arousing and glancing down at the tray placed very near hishand, remarked in some surprise: "Dobbs seems to have forgotten me. "Then indeed, the unfortunate Mr. Cornell realized what he had done. Itwas the glass intended for his host which he had caught up and carriedinto the other room--the glass which he had been told contained a drug. Of what folly he had been guilty, and how tame would be any effort atexcuse!

Attempting none, he rose and with a hurried glance at Mr. Upjohn whoflushed in sympathy at his distress, he crossed to the door he had solately closed upon Mr. Spielhagen. But feeling his shoulder touched ashis hand pressed the knob, he turned to meet the eye of Mr. VanBroecklyn fixed upon him with an expression which utterly confoundedhim. 

"Where are you going?" that gentleman asked. 

The questioning tone, the severe look, expressive at once of displeasureand astonishment, were most disconcerting, but Mr. Cornell managed tostammer forth:

"Mr. Spielhagen is in here consulting his thesis. When your man broughtin the cordial, I was awkward enough to catch up your glass and carry itin to Mr. Spielhagen. He drank it and I--I am anxious to see if it didhim any harm. "

As he uttered the last word he felt Mr. Van Broecklyn's hand slip fromhis shoulder, but no word accompanied the action, nor did his host makethe least move to follow him into the room. 

This was a matter of great regret to him later, as it left him for amoment out of the range of every eye, during which he says he simplystood in a state of shock at seeing Mr. Spielhagen still sitting there, manuscript in hand, but with head fallen forward and eyes closed; dead, asleep or--he hardly knew what; the sight so paralyzed him. 

Whether or not this was the exact truth and the whole truth, Mr. Cornellcertainly looked very unlike himself as he stepped back into Mr. VanBroecklyn's presence; and he was only partially reassured when thatgentleman protested that there was no real harm in the drug, and thatMr. Spielhagen would be all right if left to wake naturally and withoutshock. However, as his present attitude was one of great discomfort, they decided to carry him back and lay him on the library lounge. Butbefore doing this, Mr. Upjohn drew from his flaccid grasp the preciousmanuscript, and carrying it into the larger room placed it on a remotetable, where it remained undisturbed till Mr. Spielhagen, suddenlycoming to himself at the end of some fifteen minutes, missed the sheetsfrom his hand, and bounding up, crossed the room to repossess himself ofthem. 

His face, as he lifted them up and rapidly ran through them withever-accumulating anxiety, told them what they had to expect. 

The page containing the formula was gone!

 * * * * *

Violet now saw her problem. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote B: Reprinted by permission of the author and G. P. Putnam'sSons. ]

[Footnote C: An adventure of Violet Strange, the female counterpart ofAuguste Dupin, Sherlock Holmes, and Craig Kennedy. Undoubtedly the mostunique and original detective in fiction. A witch-woman--but alwayscharming!]

II

There was no doubt about the loss I have mentioned; all could see thatpage 13 was not there. In vain a second handling of every sheet, the oneso numbered was not to be found. Page 14 met the eye on the top of thepile, and page 12 finished it off at the bottom, but no page 13 inbetween, or anywhere else. 

Where had it vanished, and through whose agency had this misadventureoccurred? No one could say, or, at least, no one there made any attemptto do so, though everybody started to look for it. 

But where look? The adjoining small room offered no facilities forhiding a cigar-end, much less a square of shining white paper. Barewalls, a bare floor, and a single chair for furniture, comprised allthat was to be seen in this direction. Nor could the room in which theythen stood be thought to hold it, unless it was on the person of someone of them. Could this be the explanation of the mystery? No man lookedhis doubts; but Mr. Cornell, possibly divining the general feeling, stepped up to Mr. Van Broecklyn and in a cool voice, but with the redburning hotly on either cheek, said so as to be heard by everyonepresent:

"I demand to be searched--at once and thoroughly. "

A moment's silence, then the common cry:

"We will all be searched. "

"Is Mr. Spielhagen sure that the missing page was with the others whenhe sat down in the adjoining room to read his thesis?" asked theirperturbed host. 

"Very sure, " came the emphatic reply. "Indeed, I was just going throughthe formula itself when I fell asleep. "

"You are ready to assert this?"

"I am ready to swear it. "

Mr. Cornell repeated his request. 

"I demand that you make a thorough search of my person. I must becleared, and instantly, of every suspicion, " he gravely asserted, "orhow can I marry Miss Digby to-morrow?"

After that there was no further hesitation. One and all subjectedthemselves to the ordeal suggested; even Mr. Spielhagen. But this effortwas as futile as the rest. The lost page was not found. 

What were they to think? What were they to do?

There seemed to be nothing left to do, and yet some further attempt mustbe made towards the recovery of this important formula. Mr. Cornell'smarriage and Mr. Spielhagen's business success both depended upon itsbeing in the latter's hands before six in the morning, when he wasengaged to hand it over again to a certain manufacturer sailing forEurope on an early steamer. 

Five hours!

Had Mr. Van Broecklyn a suggestion to offer? No, he was as much at seaas the rest. 

Simultaneously look crossed look. Blankness was on every face. 

"Let us call the ladies, " suggested one. 

It was done, and however great the tension had been before, it was evengreater when Miss Digby stepped upon the scene. But she was not a womanto be shaken from her poise even by a crisis of this importance. Whenthe dilemma had been presented to her and the full situation grasped, she looked first at Mr. Cornell and then at Mr. Spielhagen, and quietlysaid:

"There is but one explanation possible of this matter. Mr. Spielhagenwill excuse me, but he is evidently mistaken in thinking that he saw thelost page among the rest. The condition into which he was thrown by theunaccustomed drug he had drank, made him liable to hallucinations. Ihave not the least doubt he thought he had been studying the formula atthe time he dropped off to sleep. I have every confidence in thegentleman's candour. But so have I in that of Mr. Cornell, " shesupplemented, with a smile. 

An exclamation from Mr. Van Broecklyn and a subdued murmur from all butMr. Spielhagen testified to the effect of this suggestion, and there isno saying what might have been the result if Mr. Cornell had nothurriedly put in this extraordinary and most unexpected protest:

"Miss Digby has my gratitude, " said he, "for a confidence which I hopeto prove to be deserved. But I must say this for Mr. Spielhagen. He wascorrect in stating that he was engaged in looking over his formula whenI stepped into his presence with the glass of cordial. If you were notin a position to see the hurried way in which his hand instinctivelyspread itself over the page he was reading, I was; and if that does notseem conclusive to you, then I feel bound to state that in unconsciouslyfollowing this movement of his, I plainly saw the number written on thetop of the page, and that number was--13. "

A loud exclamation, this time from Spielhagen himself, announced hisgratitude and corresponding change of attitude toward the speaker. 

"Wherever that damned page has gone, " he protested, advancing towardsCornell with outstretched hand, "you have nothing to do with itsdisappearance. "

Instantly all constraint fled, and every countenance took on a relievedexpression. _But the problem remained. _

Suddenly those very words passed someone's lips, and with theirutterance Mr. Upjohn remembered how at an extraordinary crisis in hisown life, he had been helped and an equally difficult problem settled, by a little lady secretly attached to a private detective agency. If shecould only be found and hurried here before morning, all might yet bewell. He would make the effort. Such wild schemes sometimes work. Hetelephoned to the office and--

Was there anything else Miss Strange would like to know?

III

Miss Strange, thus appealed to, asked where the gentlemen were now. 

She was told that they were still all together in the library; theladies had been sent home. 

"Then let us go to them, " said Violet, hiding under a smile her greatfear that here was an affair which might very easily spell for her thatdismal word, _failure_. 

So great was that fear that under all ordinary circumstances she wouldhave had no thought for anything else in the short interim between thisstating of the problem and her speedy entrance among the personsinvolved. But the circumstances of this case were so far from ordinary, or rather let me put it in this way, the setting of the case was so veryextraordinary, that she scarcely thought of the problem before her, inher great interest in the house through whose rambling halls she wasbeing so carefully guided. So much that was tragic and heartrending hadoccurred here. The Van Broecklyn name, the Van Broecklyn history, aboveall the Van Broecklyn tradition, which made the house unique in thecountry's annals, all made an appeal to her imagination, and centred herthoughts on what she saw about her. There was a door which no man everopened--had never opened since Revolutionary times--should she see it?Should she know it if she did see it? Then Mr. Van Broecklyn himself!Just to meet him, under any conditions and in any place, was an event. But to meet him here, under the pall of his own mystery! No wonder shehad no words for her companions, or that her thoughts clung to thisanticipation in wonder and almost fearsome delight. 

His story was a well-known one. A bachelor and a misanthrope, he livedabsolutely alone save for a large entourage of servants, all men andelderly ones at that. He never visited. Though he now and then, as onthis occasion, entertained certain persons under his roof, he declinedevery invitation for himself, avoiding even, with equal strictness, allevening amusements of whatever kind, which would detain him in the cityafter ten at night. Perhaps this was to ensure no break in his rule oflife never to sleep out of his own bed. Though he was a man well overfifty he had not spent, according to his own statement, but two nightsout of his own bed since his return from Europe in early boyhood, andthose were in obedience to a judicial summons which took him to Boston. 

This was his main eccentricity, but he had another which is apparentenough from what has already been said. He avoided women. If thrown inwith them during his short visits into town, he was invariably politeand at all times companionable, but he never sought them out, nor hadgossip, contrary to its usual habit, ever linked his name with one ofthe sex. 

Yet he was a man of more than ordinary attraction. His features werefine and his figure impressive. He might have been the cynosure of alleyes had he chosen to enter crowded drawing-rooms, or even to frequentpublic assemblages, but having turned his back upon everything of thekind in his youth, he had found it impossible to alter his habits withadvancing years; nor was he now expected to. The position he had takenwas respected. Leonard Van Broecklyn was no longer criticized. 

Was there any explanation for this strangely self-centred life? Thosewho knew him best seemed to think so. In the first place he had sprungfrom an unfortunate stock. Events of an unusual and tragic nature hadmarked the family of both parents. Nor had his parents themselves beenexempt from this seeming fatality. Antagonistic in tastes andtemperament, they had dragged on an unhappy existence in the old home, till both natures rebelled, and a separation ensued which not onlydisunited their lives but sent them to opposite sides of the globe neverto return again. At least, that was the inference drawn from thepeculiar circumstances attending the event. On the morning of onenever-to-be-forgotten day, John Van Broecklyn, the grandfather of thepresent representative of the family, found the following note from hisson lying on the library table:

 "FATHER:

 "Life in this house, or any house, with _her_ is no longer endurable. One of us must go. The mother should not be separated from her child. Therefore it is I whom you will never see again. Forget me, but be considerate of her and the boy. 

 "WILLIAM. "

Six hours later another note was found, this time; from the wife:

 "FATHER:

 "Tied to a rotting corpse what does one do? Lop off one's arm if necessary to rid one of the contact. As all love between your son and myself is dead, I can no longer live within the sound of his voice. As this is his home, he is the one to remain in it. May our child reap the benefit of his mother's loss and his father's affection. 

 "RHODA. "

Both were gone, and gone forever. Simultaneous in their departure, theypreserved each his own silence and sent no word back. If the one wentEast and the other West, they may have met on the other side of theglobe, but never again in the home which sheltered their boy. For himand for his grandfather they had sunk from sight in the great sea ofhumanity, leaving them stranded on an isolated and mournful shore. Thegrandfather steeled himself to the double loss, for the child's sake;but the boy of eleven succumbed. Few of the world's great sufferers, ofwhatever age or condition, have mourned as this child mourned, or shownthe effects of his grief so deeply or so long. Not till he had passedhis majority did the line, carved in one day in his baby forehead, loseany of its intensity; and there are those who declare that even laterthan that, the midnight stillness of the house was disturbed from timeto time by his muffled shriek of "Mother! Mother!" sending the servantsfrom the house, and adding one more horror to the many which clung aboutthis accursed mansion. 

Of this cry Violet had heard, and it was that and the door--But I havealready told you about the door which she was still looking for, whenher two companions suddenly halted, and she found herself on thethreshold of the library, in full view of Mr. Van Broecklyn and his twoguests. 

Slight and fairy-like in figure, with an air of modest reserve more inkeeping with her youth and dainty dimpling beauty than with her errand, her appearance produced an astonishment which none of the gentlemen wereable to disguise. This the clever detective, with a genius for socialproblems and odd elusive cases! This darling of the ball-room in satinand pearls! Mr. Spielhagen glanced at Mr. Carroll, and Mr. Carroll atMr. Spielhagen, and both at Mr. Upjohn, in very evident distrust. As forViolet, she had eyes only for Mr. Van Broecklyn who stood before her ina surprise equal to that of the others but with more restraint in itsexpression. 

She was not disappointed in him. She had expected to see a man, reservedalmost to the point of austerity. And she found his first look even moreawe-compelling than her imagination had pictured; so much so indeed, that her resolution faltered, and she took a quick step backward; whichseeing, he smiled and her heart and hopes grew warm again. That he couldsmile, and smile with absolute sweetness, was her great comfort whenlater--But I am introducing you too hurriedly to the catastrophe. Thereis much to be told first. 

I pass over the preliminaries, and come at once to the moment whenViolet, having listened to a repetition of the full facts, stood withdowncast eyes before these gentlemen, complaining in some alarm toherself:

"They expect me to tell them now and without further search or parleyjust where this missing page is. I shall have to balk that expectationwithout losing their confidence. But how?"

Summoning up her courage and meeting each inquiring eye with a lookwhich seemed to carry a different message to each, she remarked veryquietly:

"This is not a matter to guess at. I must have time and I must look alittle deeper into the facts just given me. I presume that the table Isee over there is the one upon which Mr. Upjohn laid the manuscriptduring Mr. Spielhagen's unconsciousness. "

All nodded. 

"Is it--I mean the table--in the same condition it was then? Has nothingbeen taken from it except the manuscript?"

"Nothing. "

"Then the missing page is not there, " she smiled, pointing to its baretop. A pause, during which she stood with her gaze fixed on the floorbefore her. She was thinking and thinking hard. 

Suddenly she came to a decision. Addressing Mr. Upjohn she asked if hewere quite sure that in taking the manuscript from Mr. Spielhagen's handhe had neither disarranged nor dropped one of its pages. 

The answer was unequivocal. 

"Then, " she declared, with quiet assurance and a steady meeting with herown of every eye, "as the thirteenth page was not found among the otherswhen they were taken from this table, nor on the persons of either Mr. Carroll or Mr. Spielhagen, it is still in that inner room. "

"Impossible!" came from every lip, each in a different tone. "That roomis absolutely empty. "

"May I have a look at its emptiness?" she asked, with a naïve glance atMr. Van Broecklyn. 

"There is positively nothing in the room but the chair Mr. Spielhagensat on, " objected that gentleman with a noticeable air of reluctance. 

"Still, may I not have a look at it?" she persisted, with that disarmingsmile she kept for great occasions. 

Mr. Van Broecklyn bowed. He could not refuse a request so urged, but hisstep was slow and his manner next to ungracious as he led the way to thedoor of the adjoining room and threw it open. 

Just what she had been told to expect! Bare walls and floors and anempty chair! Yet she did not instantly withdraw, but stood silentlycontemplating the panelled wainscoting surrounding her, as though shesuspected it of containing some secret hiding-place not apparent to theeye. 

Mr. Van Broecklyn, noting this, hastened to say:

"The walls are sound, Miss Strange. They contain no hidden cupboards. "

"And that door?" she asked, pointing to a portion of the wainscoting soexactly like the rest that only the most experienced eye could detectthe line of deeper colour which marked an opening. 

For an instant Mr. Van Broecklyn stood rigid, then the immovable pallor, which was one of his chief characteristics, gave way to a deep flush, ashe explained:

"There was a door there once; but it has been permanently closed. Withcement, " he forced himself to add, his countenance losing itsevanescent colour till it shone ghastly again in the strong light. 

With difficulty Violet preserved her show of composure. "_The_ door!"she murmured to herself. "I have found it. The great historic door!" Buther tone was light as she ventured to say:

"Then it can no longer be opened by your hand or any other?"

"It could not be opened with an axe. "

Violet sighed in the midst of her triumph. Her curiosity had beensatisfied, but the problem she had been set to solve lookedinexplicable. But she was not one to yield easily to discouragement. Marking the disappointment approaching to disdain in every eye but Mr. Upjohn's, she drew herself up--(she had not far to draw) and made thisfinal proposal. 

"A sheet of paper, " she remarked, "of the size of this one cannot bespirited away, or dissolved into thin air. It exists; it is here; andall we want is some happy thought in order to find it. I acknowledgethat that happy thought has not come to me yet, but sometimes I get itin what may seem to you a very odd way. Forgetting myself, I try toassume the individuality of the person who has worked the mystery. If Ican think with his thoughts, I possibly may follow him in his actions. In this case I should like to make believe for a few moments that I amMr. Spielhagen" (with what a delicious smile she said this). "I shouldlike to hold his thesis in my hand and be interrupted in my reading byMr. Cornell offering his glass of cordial; then I should like to nod andslip off mentally into a deep sleep. Possibly in that sleep the dreammay come which will clarify the whole situation. Will you humour me sofar?"

A ridiculous concession, but finally she had her way; the farce wasenacted and they left her as she had requested them to do, alone withher dreams in the small room. 

Suddenly they heard her cry out, and in another moment she appearedbefore them, the picture of excitement. 

"Is this chair standing exactly as it did when Mr. Spielhagen occupiedit?" she asked. 

"No, " said Mr. Upjohn, "it faced the other way. "

She stepped back and twirled the chair about with her disengaged hand. 

"So?"

Mr. Upjohn and Mr. Spielhagen both nodded, so did the others when sheglanced at them. 

With a sign of ill-concealed satisfaction, she drew their attention toherself; then eagerly cried:

"Gentlemen, look here!"

Seating herself, she allowed her whole body to relax till she presentedthe picture of one calmly asleep. Then, as they continued to gaze at herwith fascinated eyes, not knowing what to expect, they saw somethingwhite escape from her lap and slide across the floor till it touchedand was stayed by the wainscot. It was the top page of the manuscriptshe held, and as some inkling of the truth reached their astonishedminds, she sprang impetuously to her feet and, pointing to the fallensheet, cried:

"Do you understand now? Look where it lies, and then look here!"

She had bounded toward the wall and was now on her knees pointing to thebottom of the wainscot, just a few inches to the left of the fallenpage. 

"A crack!" she cried, "under what was once the door. It's a very thinone, hardly perceptible to the eye. But see!" Here she laid her fingeron the fallen paper and drawing it towards her, pushed it carefullyagainst the lower edge of the wainscot. Half of it at once disappeared. 

"I could easily slip it all through, " she assured them, withdrawing thesheet and leaping to her feet in triumph. "You know now where themissing page lies, Mr. Spielhagen. All that remains is for Mr. VanBroecklyn to get it for you. "

IV

The cries of mingled astonishment and relief which greeted this simpleelucidation of the mystery were broken by a curiously choked, almostunintelligible, cry. It came from the man thus appealed to, who, unnoticed by them all, had started at her first word and gradually, asaction followed action, withdrawn himself till he now stood alone andin an attitude almost of defiance behind the large table in the centreof the library. 

"I am sorry, " he began, with a brusqueness which gradually toned downinto a forced urbanity as he beheld every eye fixed upon him inamazement, "that circumstances forbid my being of assistance to you inthis unfortunate matter. If the paper lies where you say, and I see noother explanation of its loss, I am afraid it will have to remain therefor this night at least. The cement in which that door is embedded isthick as any wall; it would take men with pickaxes, possibly withdynamite, to make a breach there wide enough for anyone to reach in. Andwe are far from any such help. "

In the midst of the consternation caused by these words, the clock onthe mantel behind his back rang out the hour. It was but a doublestroke, but that meant two hours after midnight and had the effect of aknell in the hearts of those most interested. 

"But I am expected to give that formula into the hands of our managerbefore six o'clock in the morning. The steamer sails at a quarterafter. "

"Can't you reproduce a copy of it from memory?" someone asked; "andinsert it in its proper place among the pages you hold there?"

"The paper would not be the same. That would lead to questions and thetruth would come out. As the chief value of the process contained inthat formula lies in its secrecy, no explanation I could give wouldrelieve me from the suspicions which an acknowledgment of the existenceof a third copy, however well hidden, would entail. I should lose mygreat opportunity. "

Mr. Cornell's state of mind can be imagined. In an access of mingledregret and despair, he cast a glance at Violet, who, with a nod ofunderstanding, left the little room in which they still stood, andapproached Mr. Van Broecklyn. 

Lifting up her head, --for he was very tall, --and instinctively rising onher toes the nearer to reach his ear, she asked in a cautious whisper:

"Is there no other way of reaching that place?"

She acknowledged afterwards, that for one moment her heart stood stillfrom fear, such a change took place in his face, though she says he didnot move a muscle. Then, just when she was expecting from him some harshor forbidding word, he wheeled abruptly away from her and crossing to awindow at his side, lifted the shade and looked out. When he returned, he was his usual self so far as she could see. 

"There is a way, " he now confided to her in a tone as low as her own, "but it can only be taken by a child. "

"Not by me?" she asked, smiling down at her own childish proportions. 

For an instant he seemed taken aback, then she saw his hand begin totremble and his lips twitch. Somehow--she knew not why--she began topity him, and asked herself as she felt rather than saw the struggle inhis mind, that here was a trouble which if once understood would greatlydwarf that of the two men in the room behind them. 

"I am discreet, " she whisperingly declared. "I have heard the history ofthat door--how it was against the tradition of the family to have itopened. There must have been some very dreadful reason. But oldsuperstitions do not affect me, and if you will allow me to take the wayyou mention, I will follow your bidding exactly, and will not troublemyself about anything but the recovery of this paper, which must lieonly a little way inside that blocked-up door. "

Was his look one of rebuke at her presumption, or just the constrainedexpression of a perturbed mind? Probably, the latter, for while shewatched him for some understanding of his mood, he reached out his handand touched one of the satin folds crossing her shoulder. 

"You would soil this irretrievably, " said he. 

"There is stuff in the stores for another, " she smiled. Slowly his touchdeepened into pressure. Watching him she saw the crust of some old fearor dominant superstition melt under her eyes, and was quite prepared, when he remarked, with what for him was a lightsome air:

"I will buy the stuff, if you will dare the darkness and intricacies ofour old cellar. I can give you no light. You will have to feel your wayaccording to my direction. "

"I am ready to dare anything. "

He left her abruptly. 

"I will warn Miss Digby, " he called back. "She shall go with you as faras the cellar. "

V

Violet in her short career as an investigator of mysteries had been inmany a situation calling for more than womanly nerve and courage. Butnever--or so it seemed to her at the time--had she experienced a greaterdepression of spirit than when she stood with Miss Digby before a smalldoor at the extreme end of the cellar, and understood that here was herroad--a road which once entered, she must take alone. 

First, it was such a small door! No child older than eleven couldpossibly squeeze through it. But she was of the size of a child ofeleven and might possibly manage that difficulty. 

Secondly: there are always some unforeseen possibilities in everysituation, and though she had listened carefully to Mr. Van Broecklyn'sdirections and was sure that she knew them by heart, she wished she hadkissed her father more tenderly in leaving him that night for the ball, and that she had not pouted so undutifully at some harsh stricture hehad made. Did this mean fear? She despised the feeling if it did. 

Thirdly: She hated darkness. She knew this when she offered herself forthis undertaking; but she was in a bright room at the moment and onlyimagined what she must now face as a reality. But one jet had been litin the cellar and that near the entrance. Mr. Van Broecklyn seemed notto need light, even in his unfastening of the small door which Violetwas sure had been protected by more than one lock. 

Doubt, shadow, and a solitary climb between unknown walls, with only astreak of light for her goal, and the clinging pressure of FlorenceDigby's hand on her own for solace--surely the prospect was one to taxthe courage of her young heart to its limit. But she had promised, andshe would fulfil. So with a brave smile she stooped to the little door, and in another moment had started on her journey. 

For journey the shortest distance may seem when every inch means aheart-throb and one grows old in traversing a foot. At first the way waseasy; she had but to crawl up a slight incline with the comfortingconsciousness that two people were within reach of her voice, almostwithin sound of her beating heart. But presently she came to a turn, beyond which her fingers failed to reach any wall on her left. Then camea step up which she stumbled, and farther on a short flight, each treadof which she had been told to test before she ventured to climb it, lestthe decay of innumerable years should have weakened the wood too much tobear her weight. One, two, three, four, five steps! Then a landing withan open space beyond. Half of her journey was done. Here she felt shecould give a minute to drawing her breath naturally, if the air, unchanged in years, would allow her to do so. Besides, here she had beenenjoined to do a certain thing and to do it according to instructions. Three matches had been given her and a little night candle. Denied alllight up to now, it was at this point she was to light her candle andplace it on the floor, so that in returning she should not miss thestaircase and get a fall. She had promised to do this, and was only toohappy to see a spark of light scintillate into life in the immeasurabledarkness. 

She was now in a great room long closed to the world, where onceofficers in Colonial wars had feasted, and more than one council hadbeen held. A room, too, which had seen more than one tragic happening, as its almost unparalleled isolation proclaimed. So much Mr. VanBroecklyn had told her, but she was warned to be careful in traversingit and not upon any pretext to swerve aside from the right-hand walltill she came to a huge mantelpiece. This passed, and a sharp cornerturned, she ought to see somewhere in the dim spaces before her a streakof vivid light shining through the crack at the bottom of the blocked-updoor. The paper should be somewhere near this streak. 

All simple, all easy of accomplishment, if only that streak of lightwere all she was likely to see or think of. If the horror which wasgripping her throat should not take shape! If things would remainshrouded in impenetrable darkness, and not force themselves in shadowysuggestion upon her excited fancy! But the blackness of the passagewaythrough which she had just struggled, was not to be found here. Whetherit was the effect of that small flame flickering at the top of thestaircase behind her, or of some change in her own powers of seeing, surely there was a difference in her present outlook. Tall shapes werebecoming visible--the air was no longer blank--she could see--Thensuddenly she saw why. In the wall high up on her right was a window. Itwas small and all but invisible, being covered on the outside withvines, and on the inside with the cobwebs of a century. But some smallgleams from the starlight night came through, making phantasms out ofordinary things, which unseen were horrible enough, and half seen chokedher heart with terror. 

"I cannot bear it, " she whispered to herself even while creepingforward, her hand upon the wall. "I will close my eyes" was her nextthought. "I will make my own darkness, " and with a spasmodic forcing ofher lids together, she continued to creep on, passing the mantelpiece, where she knocked against something which fell with an awful clatter. 

This sound, followed as it was by that of smothered voices from theexcited group awaiting the result of her experiment from behind theimpenetrable wall she should be nearing now if she had followed herinstructions aright, freed her instantly from her fancies; and openingher eyes once more, she cast a look ahead, and to her delight, saw but afew steps away, the thin streak of bright light which marked the end ofher journey. 

It took her but a moment after that to find the missing page, andpicking it up in haste from the dusty floor, she turned herself quicklyabout and joyfully began to retrace her steps. Why, then, was it that inthe course of a few minutes more her voice suddenly broke into a wild, unearthly shriek, which ringing with terror burst the bounds of thatdungeon-like room, and sank, a barbed shaft, into the breasts of thoseawaiting the result of her doubtful adventure, at either end of thisdread no-thoroughfare. 

What had happened?

If they had thought to look out, they would have seen that themoon--held in check by a bank of cloud occupying half the heavens--hadsuddenly burst its bounds and was sending long bars of revealing lightinto every uncurtained window. 

VI

Florence Digby, in her short and sheltered life, had possibly neverknown any very great or deep emotion. But she touched the bottom ofextreme terror at that moment, as with her ears still thrilling withViolet's piercing cry, she turned to look at Mr. Van Broecklyn, andbeheld the instantaneous wreck it had made of this seemingly strongman. Not till he came to lie in his coffin would he show a more ghastlycountenance; and trembling herself almost to the point of falling, shecaught him by the arm and sought to read in his face what had happened. Something disastrous she was sure; something which he had feared and waspartially prepared for, yet which in happening had crushed him. Was it apitfall into which the poor little lady had fallen? If so--But he isspeaking--mumbling low words to himself. Some of them she can hear. Heis reproaching himself--repeating over and over that he should neverhave taken such a chance; that he should have remembered her youth--theweakness of a young girl's nerve. He had been mad, and now--and now--

With the repetition of this word his murmuring ceased. All his energieswere now absorbed in listening at the low door separating him from whathe was agonizing to know--a door impossible to enter, impossible toenlarge--a barrier to all help--an opening whereby sound might pass butnothing else save her own small body, now lying--where?

"Is she hurt?" faltered Florence, stooping, herself, to listen. "Can youhear anything--anything?"

For an instant he did not answer; every faculty was absorbed in the onesense; then slowly and in gasps he began to mutter:

"I think--I hear--_something_. Her step--no, no, no step. All is asquiet as death; not a sound, --not a breath--she has fainted. O God! OGod! Why this calamity on top of all!"

He had sprung to his feet at the utterance of this invocation, but nextmoment was down on his knees again, listening--listening. 

Never was silence more profound; they were hearkening for murmurs from atomb. Florence began to sense the full horror of it all, and was swayinghelplessly when Mr. Van Broecklyn impulsively lifted his hand in anadmonitory Hush! and through the daze of her faculties a small far soundbegan to make itself heard, growing louder as she waited, then becomingfaint again, then altogether ceasing only to renew itself once more, till it resolved into an approaching step, faltering in its course, butcoming ever nearer and nearer. 

"She's safe! She's not hurt!" sprang from Florence's lips ininexpressible relief; and expecting Mr. Van Broecklyn to show an equaljoy, she turned toward him, with the cheerful cry. 

"Now if she has been so fortunate as to find that missing page, we shallall be repaid for our fright. "

A movement on his part, a shifting of position which brought him finallyto his feet, but he gave no other proof of having heard her, nor did hiscountenance mirror her relief. "It is as if he dreaded, instead ofhailed, her return, " was Florence's inward comment as she watched himinvoluntarily recoil at each fresh token of Violet's advance. 

Yet because this seemed so very unnatural, she persisted in her effortsto lighten the situation, and when he made no attempt to encourageViolet in her approach, she herself stooped and called out a cheerfulwelcome which must have rung sweetly in the poor little detective'sears. 

A sorry sight was Violet, when, helped by Florence she finally crawledinto view through the narrow opening and stood once again on the cellarfloor. Pale, trembling, and soiled with the dust of years, she presenteda helpless figure enough, till the joy in Florence's face recalled someof her spirit, and, glancing down at her hand in which a sheet of paperwas visible, she asked for Mr. Spielhagen. 

"I've got the formula, " she said. "If you will bring him, I will hand itover to him here. "

Not a word of her adventure; nor so much as one glance at Mr. VanBroecklyn, standing far back in the shadows. 

 * * * * *

Nor was she more communicative, when, the formula restored andeverything made right with Mr. Spielhagen, they all came together againin the library for a final word. 

"I was frightened by the silence and the darkness, and so cried out, "she explained in answer to their questions. "Anyone would have done sowho found himself alone in so musty a place, " she added, with an attemptat lightsomeness which deepened the pallor on Mr. Van Broecklyn'scheek, already sufficiently noticeable to have been remarked upon bymore than one. 

"No ghosts?" laughed Mr. Cornell, too happy in the return of his hopesto be fully sensible of the feelings of those about him. "No whispersfrom impalpable lips or touches from spectre hands? Nothing to explainthe mystery of that room so long shut up that even Mr. Van Broecklyndeclares himself ignorant of its secret?"

"Nothing, " returned Violet, showing her dimples in full force now. 

"If Miss Strange had any such experiences--if she has anything to tellworthy of so marked a curiosity, she will tell it now, " came from thegentleman just alluded to, in tones so stern and strange that all showof frivolity ceased on the instant. "Have you anything to tell, MissStrange?"

Greatly startled, she regarded him with widening eyes for a moment, thenwith a move towards the door, remarked, with a general look about her:

"Mr. Van Broecklyn knows his own house, and doubtless can relate itshistories if he will. I am a busy little body who having finished mywork am now ready to return home, there to wait for the next problemwhich an indulgent fate may offer me. "

She was near the threshold--she was about to take her leave, whensuddenly she felt two hands fall on her shoulder, and turning, met theeyes of Mr. Van Broecklyn burning into her own. 

"_You saw!_" dropped in an almost inaudible whisper from his lips. 

The shiver which shook her answered him better than any word. 

With an exclamation of despair, he withdrew his hands, and facing theothers now standing together recovered some of his self-possession:

"I must ask for another hour of your company. I can no longer keep mysorrow to myself. A dividing line has just been drawn across my life, and I must have the sympathy of someone who knows my past, or I shall gomad in my self-imposed solitude. Come back, Miss Strange. You of allothers have the prior right to hear. "

VII

"I shall have to begin, " said he, when they were all seated and ready tolisten, "by giving you some idea, not so much of the family tradition, as of the effect of this tradition upon all who bore the name of VanBroecklyn. This is not the only house, even in America, which contains aroom shut away from intrusion. In England there are many. But there isthis difference between most of them and ours. No bars or locks forciblyheld shut the door we were forbidden to open. The command was enough;that and the superstitious fear which such a command, attended by a longand unquestioning obedience, was likely to engender. 

"I know no more than you do why some early ancestor laid his ban uponthis room. But from my earliest years I was given to understand thatthere was one latch in the house which was never to be lifted; that anyfault would be forgiven sooner than that; that the honour of the wholefamily stood in the way of disobedience, and that I was to preserve thathonour to my dying day. You will say that all this is fantastic, andwonder that sane people in these modern times should subject themselvesto such a ridiculous restriction, especially when no good reason wasalleged, and the very source of the tradition from which it sprungforgotten. You are right; but if you look long into human nature, youwill see that the bonds which hold the firmest are not materialones--that an idea will make a man and mould a character--that it liesat the source of all heroisms and is to be courted or feared as the casemay be. 

"For me it possessed a power proportionate to my loneliness. I don'tthink there was ever a more lonely child. My father and mother were sounhappy in each other's companionship that one or other of them wasalmost always away. But I saw little of either even when they were athome. The constraint in their attitude toward each other affected theirconduct toward me. I have asked myself more than once if either of themhad any real affection for me. To my father I spoke of her; to her ofhim; and never pleasurably. This I am forced to say, or you cannotunderstand my story. Would to God I could tell another tale! Would toGod I had such memories as other men have of a father's clasp, amother's kiss--but no! my grief, already profound, might have becomeabysmal. Perhaps it is best as it is; only, I might have been adifferent child, and made for myself a different fate--who knows. 

"As it was, I was thrown almost entirely upon my own resources for anyamusement. This led me to a discovery I made one day. In a far part ofthe cellar behind some heavy casks, I found a little door. It was solow--so exactly fitted to my small body, that I had the greatest desireto enter it. But I could not get around the casks. At last an expedientoccurred to me. We had an old servant who came nearer loving me thananyone else. One day when I chanced to be alone in the cellar, I tookout my ball and began throwing it about. Finally it landed behind thecasks, and I ran with a beseeching cry to Michael, to move them. 

"It was a task requiring no little strength and address, but he managed, after a few herculean efforts, to shift them aside and I saw withdelight my way opened to that mysterious little door. But I did notapproach it then; some instinct deterred me. But when the opportunitycame for me to venture there alone, I did so, in the most adventurousspirit, and began my operations by sliding behind the casks and testingthe handle of the little door. It turned, and after a pull or two thedoor yielded. With my heart in my mouth, I stooped and peered in. Icould see nothing--a black hole and nothing more. This caused me amoment's hesitation. I was afraid of the dark--had always been. Butcuriosity and the spirit of adventure triumphed. Saying to myself that Iwas Robinson Crusoe exploring the cave, I crawled in, only to find thatI had gained nothing. It was as dark inside as it had looked to be fromwithout. 

"There was no fun in this, so I crawled back and when I tried theexperiment again, it was with a bit of candle in my hand, and asurreptitious match or two. What I saw, when with a very tremblinglittle hand I had lighted one of the matches, would have beendisappointing to most boys, but not to me. The litter and old boards Isaw in odd corners about me were full of possibilities, while in thedimness beyond I seemed to perceive a sort of staircase which mightlead--I do not think I made any attempt to answer that question even inmy own mind, but when, after some hesitation and a sense of greatdaring, I finally crept up those steps, I remember very well mysensation at finding myself in front of a narrow closed door. Itsuggested too vividly the one in Grandfather's little room--the door inthe wainscot which we were never to open. I had my first real tremblingfit here, and at once fascinated and repelled by this obstruction Istumbled and lost my candle, which, going out in the fall, left me intotal darkness and a very frightened state of mind. For my imagination, which had been greatly stirred by my own vague thoughts of the forbiddenroom, immediately began to people the space about me with ghoulishfigures. How should I escape them, how ever reach my own little roomagain, undetected and in safety?

"But these terrors, deep as they were, were nothing to the real frightwhich seized me when, the darkness finally braved, and the way foundback into the bright, wide-open halls of the house, I became consciousof having dropped something besides the candle. My match-box wasgone--not _my_ match-box, but my grandfather's which I had found lyingon his table and carried off on this adventure, in all the confidence ofirresponsible youth. To make use of it for a little while, trusting tohis not missing it in the confusion I had noticed about the house thatmorning, was one thing; to lose it was another. It was no common box. Made of gold and cherished for some special reason well known tohimself, I had often heard him say that some day I would appreciate itsvalue and be glad to own it. And I had left it in that hole and at anyminute he might miss it--possibly ask for it! The day was one oftorment. My mother was away or shut up in her room. My father--I don'tknow just what thoughts I had about him. He was not to be seen either, and the servants cast strange looks at me when I spoke his name. But Ilittle realized the blow which had just fallen upon the house in hisdefinite departure, and only thought of my own trouble, and of how Ishould meet my grandfather's eye when the hour came for him to draw meto his knee for his usual good-night. 

"That I was spared this ordeal for the first time this very night firstcomforted me, then added to my distress. He had discovered his loss andwas angry. On the morrow he would ask me for the box and I would have tolie, for never could I find the courage to tell him where I had been. Such an act of presumption he would never forgive, or so I thought as Ilay and shivered in my little bed. That his coldness, his neglect, sprang from the discovery just made that my mother as well as my fatherhad just fled the house forever was as little known to me as the morningcalamity. I had been given my usual tendance and was tucked safely intobed; but the gloom, the silence which presently settled upon the househad a very different explanation in my mind from the real one. My sin(for such it loomed large in my mind by this time) coloured the wholesituation and accounted for every event. 

"At what hour I slipped from my bed on to the cold floor, I shall neverknow. To me it seemed to be in the dead of night; but I doubt if it weremore than ten. So slowly creep away the moments to a wakeful child. Ihad made a great resolve. Awful as the prospect seemed tome, --frightened as I was by the very thought, --I had determined in mysmall mind to go down into the cellar, and into that midnight holeagain, in search of the lost box. I would take a candle and matches, this time from my own mantel-shelf, and if everyone was asleep, asappeared from the deathly quiet of the house, I would be able to go andcome without anybody ever being the wiser. 

"Dressing in the dark, I found my matches and my candle and, puttingthem in one of my pockets, softly opened my door and looked out. Nobodywas stirring; every light was out except a solitary one in the lowerhall. That this still burned conveyed no meaning to my mind. How could Iknow that the house was so still and the rooms so dark because everyonewas out searching for some clue to my mother's flight? If I had lookedat the clock--but I did not; I was too intent upon my errand, too filledwith the fever of my desperate undertaking, to be affected by anythingnot bearing directly upon it. 

"Of the terror caused by my own shadow on the wall as I made the turn inthe hall below, I have as keen a recollection to-day as though ithappened yesterday. But that did not deter me; nothing deterred me, tillsafe in the cellar I crouched down behind the casks to get my breathagain before entering the hole beyond. 

"I had made some noise in feeling my way around these casks, and Itrembled lest these sounds had been heard upstairs! But this fear soongave place to one far greater. Other sounds were making themselvesheard. A din of small skurrying feet above, below, on every side of me!Rats! rats in the wall! rats on the cellar bottom! How I ever stirredfrom the spot I do not know, but when I did stir, it was to go forward, and enter the uncanny hole. 

"I had intended to light my candle when I got inside; but for somereason I went stumbling along in the dark, following the wall till I gotto the steps where I had dropped the box. Here a light was necessary, but my hand did not go to my pocket. I thought it better to climb thesteps first, and softly one foot found the tread and then another. I hadonly three more to climb and then my right hand, now feeling its wayalong the wall, would be free to strike a match. I climbed the threesteps and was steadying myself against the door for a final plunge, whensomething happened--something so strange, so unexpected, and soincredible that I wonder I did not shriek aloud in my terror. The doorwas moving under my hand. It was slowly opening inward. I could feel thechill made by the widening crack. Moment by moment this chill increased;the gap was growing--a presence was there--a presence before which Isank in a small heap upon the landing. Would it advance? Had itfeet--hands? Was it a presence which could be felt?

"Whatever it was, it made no attempt to pass, and presently I lifted myhead only to quake anew at the sound of a voice--a human voice--mymother's voice--so near me that by putting out my arms I might havetouched her. 

"She was speaking to my father. I knew it from the tone. She was sayingwords which, little understood as they were, made such a havoc in myyouthful mind that I have never forgotten them. 

"'I have come!' she said. 'They think I have fled the house and arelooking far and wide for me. We shall not be disturbed. Who would thinkof looking here for either you or me?'

"_Here!_ The word sank like a plummet in my breast. I had known for somefew minutes that I was on the threshold of the forbidden room; but theywere _in_ it. I can scarcely make you understand the tumult which thisawoke in my brain. Somehow, I had never thought that any such braving ofthe house's law would be possible. 

"I heard my father's answer, but it conveyed no meaning to me. I alsorealized that he spoke from a distance, --that he was at one end of theroom while we were at the other. I was presently to have this ideaconfirmed, for while I was striving with all my might and main to subduemy very heart-throbs so that she would not hear me or suspect mypresence, the darkness--I should rather say the blackness of the placeyielded to a flash of lightning--heat lightning, all glare and nosound--and I caught an instantaneous vision of my father's figurestanding with gleaming things about him, which affected me at the momentas supernatural, but which, in later years, I decided to have beenweapons hanging on a wall. 

"She saw him too, for she gave a quick laugh and said they would notneed any candles; and then, there was another flash and I saw somethingin his hand and something in hers, and though I did not yet understand, I felt myself turning deathly sick and gave a choking gasp which waslost in the rush she made into the centre of the room, and the keennessof her swift low cry. 

"'_Garde-toi!_ for only one of us will ever leave this room alive!'

"A duel! a duel to the death between this husband and wife--this fatherand mother--in this hole of dead tragedies and within the sight andhearing of their child! Has Satan ever devised a scheme more hideous forruining the life of an eleven-year-old boy!

"Not that I took it all in at once. I was too innocent and much toodazed to comprehend such hatred, much less the passions which engenderedit. I only knew that something horrible--something beyond the conceptionof my childish mind--was going to take place in the darkness before me;and the terror of it made me speechless; would to God it had made medeaf and blind and dead!

"She had dashed from her corner and he had slid away from his, as thenext fantastic gleam which lit up the room showed me. It also showed theweapons in their hands, and for a moment I felt reassured when I sawthese were swords, for I had seen them before with foils in their handspractising for exercise, as they said, in the great garret. But theswords had buttons on them, and this time the tips were sharp and shonein the keen light. 

"An exclamation from her and a growl of rage from him were followed bymovements I could scarcely hear, but which were terrifying from theirvery quiet. Then the sound of a clash. The swords had crossed. 

"Had the lightning flashed forth then, the end of one of them might haveoccurred. But the darkness remained undisturbed, and when the glarerelit the great room again, they were already far apart. This called outa word from him; the one sentence he spoke--I can never forget it:

"'Rhoda, there is blood on your sleeve; I have wounded you. Shall wecall it off and fly, as the poor creatures in there think we have, tothe opposite ends of the earth?'

"I almost spoke; I almost added my childish plea to his for them tostop--to remember me and stop. But not a muscle in my throat respondedto my agonized effort. Her cold, clear 'No!' fell before my tongue wasloosed or my heart freed from the ponderous weight crushing it. 

"'I have vowed and _I_ keep my promises, ' she went on in a tone quitestrange to me. 'What would either's life be worth with the other aliveand happy in this world?'

"He made no answer; and those subtle movements--shadows of movements Imight almost call them--recommenced. Then there came a sudden cry, shrill and poignant--had Grandfather been in his room he would surelyhave heard it--and the flash coming almost simultaneously with itsutterance, I saw what has haunted my sleep from that day to this, myfather pinned against the wall, sword still in hand, and before him mymother, fiercely triumphant, her staring eyes fixed on his and--

"Nature could bear no more; the band loosened from my throat; theoppression lifted from my breast long enough for me to give one wildwail and she turned, saw (heaven sent its flashes quickly at thismoment) and recognizing my childish form, all the horror of her deed (orso I have fondly hoped) rose within her, and she gave a start and fellfull upon the point upturned to receive her. 

"A groan; then a gasping sigh from him, and silence settled upon theroom and upon my heart and so far as I knew upon the whole createdworld. 

 * * * * *

"That is my story, friends. Do you wonder that I have never been orlived like other men?"

After a few moments of sympathetic silence, Mr. Van Broecklyn went on tosay:

"I don't think I ever had a moment's doubt that my parents both lay deadon the floor of that great room. When I came to myself--which may havebeen soon, and may not have been for a long while--the lightning hadceased to flash, leaving the darkness stretching like a blank pallbetween me and that spot in which were concentrated all the terrors ofwhich my imagination was capable. I dared not enter it. I dared not takeone step that way. My instinct was to fly and hide my trembling bodyagain in my own bed; and associated with this, in fact dominating it andmaking me old before my time, was another--never to tell; never to letanyone, least of all my grandfather--know what that forbidden room nowcontained. I felt in an irresistible sort of way that my father's andmother's honour was at stake. Besides, terror held me back; I felt thatI should die if I spoke. Childhood has such terrors and such heroisms. Silence often covers in such, abysses of thought and feeling whichastonish us in later years. There is no suffering like a child's, terrified by a secret it dare not for some reason disclose. 

"Events aided me. When, in desperation to see once more the light andall the things which linked me to life--my little bed, the toys on thewindowsill, my squirrel in its cage--I forced myself to retraverse theempty house, expecting at every turn to hear my father's voice or comeupon the image of my mother--yes, such was the confusion of my mind, though I knew well enough even then that they were dead and that Ishould never hear the one or see the other. I was so benumbed with thecold in my half-dressed condition, that I woke in a fever next morningafter a terrible dream which forced from my lips the cry of 'Mother!Mother!'--only that. 

"I was cautious even in delirium. This delirium and my flushed cheeksand shining eyes led them to be very careful to me. I was told that mymother was away from home; and when after two days of search they werequite sure that all efforts to find either her or my father were likelyto prove fruitless, that she had gone to Europe where we would followher as soon as I was well. This promise, offering as it did, a prospectof immediate release from the terrors which were consuming me, had anextraordinary effect upon me. I got up out of my bed saying that I waswell now and ready to start on the instant. The doctor, finding my pulseequable, and my whole condition wonderfully improved, and attributingit, as was natural, to my hope of soon joining my mother, advised mywhim to be humoured and this hope kept active till travel andintercourse with children should give me strength and prepare me for thebitter truth ultimately awaiting me. They listened to him and intwenty-four hours our preparations were made. We saw the houseclosed--with what emotions surging in one small breast, I leave you toimagine--and then started on our long tour. For five years we wanderedover the continent of Europe, my grandfather finding distraction, aswell as myself, in foreign scenes and associations. 

"But return was inevitable. What I suffered on re-entering this house, God and my sleepless pillow alone know. Had any discovery been made inour absence; or would it be made now that renovation and repairs of allkinds were necessary? Time finally answered me. My secret was safe andlikely to continue so, and this fact once settled, life becameendurable, if not cheerful. Since then I have spent only two nights outof this house, and they were unavoidable. When my grandfather died I hadthe wainscot door cemented in. It was done from this side and the cementpainted to match the wood. No one opened the door nor have I evercrossed its threshold. Sometimes I think I have been foolish; andsometimes I know that I have been very wise. My reason has stood firm;how do I know that it would have done so if I had subjected myself tothe possible discovery that one or both of them might have been saved ifI had disclosed instead of concealed my adventure. "

 * * * * *

A pause during which white horror had shone on every face; then with afinal glance at Violet, he said:

"What sequel do you see to this story, Miss Strange? I can tell thepast, I leave you to picture the future. "

Rising, she let her eye travel from face to face till it rested on theone awaiting it, when she answered dreamily:

"If some morning in the news column there should appear an account ofthe ancient and historic home of the Van Broecklyns having burned tothe ground in the night, the whole country would mourn, and the cityfeel defrauded of one of its treasures. But there are five persons whowould see in it the sequel which you ask for. "

When this happened, as it did happen, some few weeks later, theastonishing discovery was made that no insurance had been put upon thishouse. Why was it that after such a loss Mr. Van Broecklyn seemed torenew his youth? It was a constant source of comment among his friends. 

V

A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA

A. CONAN DOYLE

I

To Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard himmention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses andpredominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotionakin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that theworld has seen; but as a lover, he would have placed himself in a falseposition. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and asneer. They were admirable things for the observer--excellent fordrawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trainedreasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finelyadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which mightthrow a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitiveinstrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not bemore disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And yetthere was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable memory. 

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away fromeach other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interestswhich rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his ownestablishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention; while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remainedin our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, andalternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition, thedrowsiness of the drug and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. Hewas still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupiedhis immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation infollowing out those clews, and clearing up those mysteries, which hadbeen abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time to time Iheard some vague account of his doings; of his summons to Odessa in thecase of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up of the singular tragedyof the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and finally of the missionwhich he had accomplished so delicately and successfully for thereigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knewlittle of my former friend and companion. 

One night--it was on the 20th of March, 1888--I was returning from ajourney to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when myway led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and with thedark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desireto see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinarypowers. His rooms were brilliantly lighted, and even as I looked up, Isaw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against theblind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head sunk uponhis chest, and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who knew his everymood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own story. He was atwork again. He had risen out of his drug-created dreams, and was hotupon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell, and was shown up tothe chamber which had formerly been in part my own. 

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think, tosee me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved me toan armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a spiritcase and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire, andlooked me over in his singular introspective fashion. 

"Wedlock suits you, " he remarked. "I think Watson, that you have put onseven and a half pounds since I saw you. "

"Seven, " I answered. 

"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, Ifancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell methat you intended to go into harness. "

"Then how do you know?"

"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been gettingyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and carelessservant girl?"

"My dear Holmes, " said I, "this is too much. You would certainly havebeen burned had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had acountry walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess; but as I havechanged my clothes, I can't imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but there again Ifail to see how you work it out. "

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long nervous hands together. 

"It is simplicity itself, " said he, "my eyes tell me that on the insideof your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather isscored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused bysomeone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole inorder to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double deductionthat you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a particularlymalignant boot-slicking specimen of the London slavey. As to yourpractice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms, smelling of iodoform, witha black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulgeon the side of his top hat to show where he has secreted hisstethoscope, I must be dull indeed if I do not pronounce him to be anactive member of the medical profession. "

I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained hisprocess of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons, " I remarked, "the thing always appears to me so ridiculously simple that I couldeasily do it myself, though at each successive instance of yourreasoning I am baffled, until you explain your process. And yet, Ibelieve that my eyes are as good as yours. "

"Quite so, " he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself downinto an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe. The distinction isclear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps which lead upfrom the hall to this room. "

"Frequently. "

"How often?"

"Well, some hundreds of times. "

"Then how many are there?"

"How many? I don't know. "

"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just mypoint. Now, I know there are seventeen steps, because I have both seenand observed. By the way, since you are interested in these littleproblems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two of mytrifling experiences, you may be interested in this. " He threw over asheet of thick pink-tinted note paper which had been lying open upon thetable. "It came by the last post, " said he. "Read it aloud. "

The note was undated, and without either signature or address. 

"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o'clock, " itsaid, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the verydeepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses ofEurope have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted withmatters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. Thisaccount of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber, then, at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears amask. "

"This is indeed a mystery, " I remarked. "What do you imagine that itmeans?"

"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before one hasdata. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead oftheories to suit facts. But the note itself--what do you deduce fromit?"

I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it waswritten. 

"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do, " I remarked, endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper could notbe bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong andstiff. "

"Peculiar--that is the very word, " said Holmes. "It is not an Englishpaper at all. Hold it up to the light. "

I did so, and saw a large _E_ with a small _g_, a _P_ and a large _G_with a small _t_ woven into the texture of the paper. 

"What do you make of that?" asked Holmes. 

"The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather. "

"Not all. The _G_ with the small _t_ stands for 'Gesellschaft, ' which isthe German for 'Company. ' It is a customary contraction like our 'Co. '_P_, of course, stands for 'Papier. ' Now for the _Eg_. Let us glance atour 'Continental Gazetteer. '" He took down a heavy brown volume from hisshelves. "Eglow, Eglonitz--here we are, Egria. It is in aGerman-speaking country--in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. 'Remarkableas being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerousglass factories and paper mills. ' Ha! ha! my boy, what do you make ofthat?" His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloudfrom his cigarette. 

"The paper was made in Bohemia, " I said. 

"Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note thepeculiar construction of the sentence--'This account of you we have fromall quarters received'? A Frenchman or Russian could not have writtenthat. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It onlyremains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who writesupon Bohemian paper, and prefers wearing a mask to showing his face. Andhere he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our doubts. "

As he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses' hoofs and gratingwheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmeswhistled. 

"A pair, by the sound, " said he. "Yes, " he continued, glancing out ofthe window. "A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundredand fifty guineas apiece. There's money in this case, Watson, if thereis nothing else. "

"I think I had better go, Holmes. "

"Not a bit, doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell. And this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it. "

"But your client--"

"Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes. Sitdown in that armchair, doctor, and give us your best attention. "

A slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in thepassage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud andauthoritative tap. 

"Come in!" said Holmes. 

A man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inchesin height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was richwith a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to badtaste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves andfront of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which wasthrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk, andsecured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flamingberyl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which weretrimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression ofbarbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. Hecarried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upperpart of his face, extending down past the cheek-bones, a black visardmask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his handwas still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face heappeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip, anda long, straight chin, suggestive of resolution pushed to the length ofobstinacy. 

"You had my note?" he asked, with a deep, harsh voice and a stronglymarked German accent. "I told you that I would call. " He looked from oneto the other of us, as if uncertain which to address. 

"Pray take a seat, " said Holmes. "This is my friend and colleague, Doctor Watson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom have I the honour to address?"

"You may address me as the Count von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. Iunderstand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour anddiscretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extremeimportance. If not I should much prefer to communicate with you alone. "

I rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back intomy chair. "It is both, or none, " said he. "You may say before thisgentleman anything which you may say to me. "

The count shrugged his broad shoulders. "Then I must begin, " said he, "by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end ofthat time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not toomuch to say that it is of such weight that it may have an influence uponEuropean history. "

"I promise, " said Holmes. 

"And I. "

"You will excuse this mask, " continued our strange visitor. "The augustperson who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I mayconfess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is notexactly my own. "

"I was aware of it, " said Holmes, dryly. 

"The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to betaken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal, and seriouslycompromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak plainly, thematter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary kings ofBohemia. "

"I was also aware of that, " murmured Holmes, settling himself down inhis armchair, and closing his eyes. 

Our visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid, loungingfigure of the man who had been, no doubt, depicted to him as the mostincisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes slowlyreopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client. 

"If your majesty would condescend to state your case, " he remarked, "Ishould be better able to advise you. "

The man sprung from his chair, and paced up and down the room inuncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he torethe mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. 

"You are right, " he cried, "I am the king. Why should I attempt toconceal it?"

"Why, indeed?" murmured Holmes. "Your majesty had not spoken before Iwas aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond vonOrmstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King ofBohemia. "

"But you can understand, " said our strange visitor, sitting down oncemore and passing his hand over his high, white forehead, "you canunderstand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my ownperson. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to anagent without putting myself in his power. I have come incognito fromPrague for the purpose of consulting you. "

"Then, pray consult, " said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more. 

"The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthyvisit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuressIrene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you. "

"Kindly look her up in my index, doctor, " murmured Holmes, withoutopening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system for docketingall paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult toname a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnishinformation. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in betweenthat of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff commander who had written amonograph upon the deep-sea fishes. 

"Let me see!" said Holmes. "Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858. Contralto--hum! La Scala--hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera ofWarsaw--yes! Retired from operatic stage--ha! Living in London--quiteso! Your majesty, as I understand, became entangled with this youngperson, wrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous ofgetting those letters back. "

"Precisely so. But how--"

"Was there a secret marriage?"

"None. "

"No legal papers or certificates?"

"None. "

"Then I fail to follow your majesty. If this young person should produceher letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to provetheir authenticity?"

"There is the writing. "

"Pooh-pooh! Forgery. "

"My private note paper. "

"Stolen. "

"My own seal. "

"Imitated. "

"My photograph. "

"Bought. "

"We were both in the photograph. "

"Oh, dear! That is very bad. Your majesty has indeed committed anindiscretion. "

"I was mad--insane. "

"You have compromised yourself seriously. "

"I was only crown prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now. "

"It must be recovered. "

"We have tried and failed. "

"Your majesty must pay. It must be bought. "

"She will not sell. "

"Stolen, then. "

"Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked herhouse. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she hasbeen waylaid. There has been no result. "

"No sign of it?"

"Absolutely none. "

Holmes laughed. "It is quite a pretty little problem, " said he. 

"But a very serious one to me, " returned the king, reproachfully. 

"Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?"

"To ruin me. "

"But how?"

"I am about to be married. "

"So I have heard. "

"To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meiningen, second daughter of the King ofScandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She isherself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conductwould bring the matter to an end. "

"And Irene Adler?"

"Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know thatshe will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. Shehas the face of the most beautiful of women and the mind of the mostresolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are nolengths to which she would not go--none. "

"You are sure she has not sent it yet?"

"I am sure. "

"And why?"

"Because she has said that she would send it on the day when thebetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday. "

"Oh, then we have three days yet, " said Holmes, with a yawn. "That isvery fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look intojust at present. Your majesty will, of course, stay in London for thepresent?"

"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham, under the name of the Countvon Kramm. "

"Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress. "

"Pray do so; I shall be all anxiety. "

"Then, as to money?"

"You have _carte blanche_. "

"Absolutely?"

"I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to havethat photograph. "

"And for present expenses?"

The king took a heavy chamois-leather bag from under his cloak, and laidit on the table. 

"There are three hundred pounds in gold, and seven hundred in notes, " hesaid. 

Holmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his notebook, and handed itto him. 

"And mademoiselle's address?" he asked. 

"Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood. "

Holmes took a note of it. "One other question, " said he, thoughtfully. "Was the photograph a cabinet?"

"It was. "

"Then, good-night, your majesty, and I trust that we shall soon havesome good news for you. And good-night, Watson, " he added, as thewheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. "If you will begood enough to call to-morrow afternoon, at three o'clock, I should liketo chat this little matter over with you. "

II

At three o'clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not yetreturned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house shortlyafter eight o'clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire, however, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be. I wasalready deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was surroundedby none of the grim and strange features which were associated with thetwo crimes which I have already recorded, still, the nature of the caseand the exalted station of his client gave it a character of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the investigation which my friend hadon hand, there was something in his masterly grasp of a situation, andhis keen, incisive reasoning, which made it a pleasure to me to studyhis system of work, and to follow the quick subtle methods by which hedisentangled the most inextricable mysteries. So accustomed was I to hisinvariable success that the very possibility of his failing had ceasedto enter into my head. 

It was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-lookinggroom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face anddisreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to myfriend's amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look threetimes before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he vanishedinto the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes tweed-suited andrespectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his pockets, he stretchedout his legs in front of the fire, and laughed heartily for someminutes. 

"Well, really!" he cried, and then he choked, and laughed again until hewas obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair. 

"What is it?"

"It's quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed mymorning, or what I ended by doing. "

"I can't imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, and, perhaps, the house, of Miss Irene Adler. "

"Quite so, but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however. I left the house a little after eight o'clock this morning in thecharacter of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy andfreemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all thatthere is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a bijou villa, with agarden at the back, but built out in the front right up to the road, twostories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting room on the right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor, and thosepreposterous English window fasteners which a child could open. Behindthere was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window could bereached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and examinedit closely from every point of view, but without noting anything else ofinterest. 

"I then lounged down the street, and found, as I expected, that therewas a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lentthe hostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and I received inexchange two-pence, a glass of half and half, two fills of shag tobacco, and as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to saynothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood, in whom I wasnot in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled tolisten to. "

"And what of Irene Adler?" I asked. 

"Oh, she has turned all the men's heads down in that part. She is thedaintest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the SerpentineMews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives out at fiveevery day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom goes out atother times, except when she sings. Has only one male visitor, but agood deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing; never calls lessthan once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey Norton of theInner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a confidant. They haddriven him home a dozen times from Serpentine Mews, and knew all abouthim. When I had listened to all that they had to tell, I began to walkup and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think over my plan ofcampaign. 

"This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter. Hewas a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between them, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client, hisfriend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably transferred thephotograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less likely. On theissue of this question depended whether I should continue my work atBriony Lodge, or turn my attention to the gentleman's chambers in theTemple. It was a delicate point, and it widened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these details, but I have to let you see mylittle difficulties, if you are to understand the situation. "

"I am following you closely, " I answered. 

"I was still balancing the matter in my mind, when a hansom cab drove upto Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprung out. He was a remarkablyhandsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached--evidently the man of whomI had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabmanto wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door, with the air ofa man who was thoroughly at home. 

"He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses ofhim in the windows of the sitting room, pacing up and down, talkingexcitedly and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently heemerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to thecab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it earnestly. 'Drive like the devil!' he shouted, 'first to Gross & Hankey's in RegentStreet, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the Edgeware Road. Halfa guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!'

"Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do wellto follow them, when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachmanwith his coat only half buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while allthe tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn'tpulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I onlycaught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, witha face that a man might die for. 

"'The Church of St. Monica, John, ' she cried; 'and half a sovereign ifyou reach it in twenty minutes. '

"This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether Ishould run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau, when acab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabbyfare; but I jumped in before he could object. 'The Church of St. Monica, ' said I, 'and half a sovereign if you reach it in twentyminutes. ' It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it wasclear enough what was in the wind. 

"My cabby drove fast. I don't think I ever drove faster, but the otherswere there before us. The cab and landau with their steaming horses werein front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man, and hurried intothe church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had followed, and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with them. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I loungedup the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a church. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to me, andGodfrey Norton came running as hard as he could toward me. 

"'Thank God!' he cried. 'You'll do. Come! Come!'

"'What then?' I asked. 

"'Come, man, come; only three minutes, or it won't be legal. '

"I was half dragged up to the altar, and, before I knew where I was, Ifound myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, andvouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting inthe secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton, bachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentlemanthanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while theclergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous positionin which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of itthat started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been someinformality about their license; that the clergyman absolutely refusedto marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my luckyappearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into thestreets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and Imean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion. "

"This is a very unexpected turn of affairs, " said I; "and what then?"

"Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the pairmight take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt andenergetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, theyseparated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house. 'Ishall drive out in the park at five as usual, ' she said, as she lefthim. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and Iwent off to make my own arrangements. "

"Which are?"

"Some cold beef and a glass of beer, " he answered, ringing the bell. "Ihave been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier stillthis evening. By the way, doctor, I shall want your co-operation. "

"I shall be delighted. "

"You don't mind breaking the law?"

"Not in the least. "

"Nor running a chance of arrest?"

"Not in a good cause. "

"Oh, the cause is excellent!"

"Then I am your man. "

"I was sure that I might rely on you. "

"But what is it you wish?"

"When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you. Now, " he said, as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that ourlandlady had provided, "I must discuss it while I eat, for I have notmuch time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the sceneof action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive atseven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her. "

"And what then?"

"You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur. There is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere, come what may. You understand?"

"I am to be neutral?"

"To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some smallunpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed intothe house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window willopen. You are to station yourself close to that open window. "

"Yes. "

"You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you. "

"Yes. "

"And when I raise my hand--so--you will throw into the room what I giveyou to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. Youquite follow me?"

"Entirely. "

"It is nothing very formidable, " he said, taking a long, cigar-shapedroll from his pocket. "It is an ordinary plumber's smoke-rocket, fittedwith a cap at either end, to make it self-lighting. Your task isconfined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken upby quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the street, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made myselfclear?"

"I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and, atthe signal, to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire andto wait you at the corner of the street. "

"Precisely. "

"Then you may entirely rely on me. "

"That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I preparedfor the new rôle I have to play. "

He disappeared into his bedroom, and returned in a few minutes in thecharacter of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. Hisbroad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympatheticsmile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such asMr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that Holmeschanged his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed tovary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fineactor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became aspecialist in crime. 

It was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still wantedten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine Avenue. Itwas already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as we paced upand down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming of itsoccupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from SherlockHolmes's succinct description, but the locality appeared to be lessprivate than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a quietneighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of shabbilydressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a scissors-grinder withhis wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a nurse-girl, andseveral well-dressed young men who were lounging up and down with cigarsin their mouths. 

"You see, " remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of thehouse, "this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomesa double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averseto its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton as our client is to its comingto the eyes of his princess. Now the question is--where are we to findthe photograph?"

"Where, indeed?"

"It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinetsize. Too large for easy concealment about a woman's dress. She knowsthat the king is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Twoattempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, thatshe does not carry it about with her. "

"Where, then?"

"Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I aminclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they liketo do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else?She could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell whatindirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a businessman. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within a fewdays. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be in herown house. "

"But it has twice been burglarized. "

"Pshaw! They did not know how to look. "

"But how will you look?"

"I will not look. "

"What then?"

"I will get her to show me. "

"But she will refuse. "

"She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is hercarriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter. "

As he spoke, the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round thecurve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up tothe door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up one of the loafing men at thecorner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a copper, but was elbowed away by another loafer who had rushed up with the sameintention. A fierce quarrel broke out which was increased by the twoguardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the scissorsgrinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was struck, andin an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage, was thecentre of a little knot of struggling men who struck savagely at eachother with their fists and sticks. Holmes dashed into the crowd toprotect the lady; but, just as he reached her, he gave a cry and droppedto the ground, with the blood running freely down his face. At his fallthe guardsmen took to their heels in one direction and the loungers inthe other, while a number of better-dressed people who had watched thescuffle without taking part in it crowded in to help the lady and toattend to the injured man. Irene Adler, as I will still call her, hadhurried up the steps; but she stood at the top, with her superb figureoutlined against the lights of the hall, looking back into the street. 

"Is the poor gentleman much hurt?" she asked. 

"He is dead, " cried several voices. 

"No, no, there's life in him, " shouted another. "But he'll be gonebefore you can get him to the hospital. "

"He's a brave fellow, " said the woman. "They would have had the lady'spurse and watch if it hadn't been for him. They were a gang, and arough one, too. Ah! he's breathing now. "

"He can't lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?"

"Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa. This way, please. " Slowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge, and laid out in the principal room, while I still observed theproceedings from my post by the window. The lamps had been lighted, butthe blinds had not been drawn, so that I could see Holmes as he lay uponthe couch. I do not know whether he was seized with compunction at thatmoment for the part he was playing, but I know that I never felt moreheartily ashamed of myself in my life than when I saw the beautifulcreature against whom I was conspiring, or the grace and kindliness withwhich she waited upon the injured man. And yet it would be the blackesttreachery to Holmes to draw back now from the part which he hadintrusted to me. I hardened my heart, and took the smoke-rocket fromunder my ulster. After all, I thought, we are not injuring her. We arebut preventing her from injuring another. 

Holmes had sat upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who is inneed of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At the sameinstant I saw him raise his hand, and at the signal I tossed my rocketinto the room with a cry of "Fire!" The word was no sooner out of mymouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed andill--gentlemen, hostlers, and servant maids--joined in a general shriekof "Fire!" Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room, and out at theopen window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment laterthe voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false alarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd, I made my way to the corner of thestreet, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend's arm in mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly and insilence for some few minutes, until we had turned down one of the quietstreets which led toward the Edgeware Road. 

"You did it very nicely, doctor, " he remarked. "Nothing could have beenbetter. It is all right. "

"You have the photograph?"

"I know where it is. "

"And how did you find out?"

"She showed me, as I told you that she would. "

"I am still in the dark. "

"I do not wish to make a mystery, " said he, laughing. "The matter wasperfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was anaccomplice. They were all engaged for the evening. "

"I guessed as much. "

"Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in thepalm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to myface, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick. "

"That also I could fathom. "

"Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else couldshe do? And into her sitting room, which was the very room which Isuspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined tosee which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they werecompelled to open the window, and you had your chance. "

"How did that help you?"

"It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire, her instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. Itis a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once takenadvantage of it. In the case of the Darlington Substitution Scandal itwas of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A marriedwoman grabs at her baby--an unmarried one reaches for her jewel box. Nowit was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house moreprecious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to secureit. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting wereenough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. Thephotograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the rightbell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it asshe drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, shereplaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and I have notseen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the house. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once; butthe coachman had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly, it seemedsafer to wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all. "

"And now?" I asked. 

"Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the kingto-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be showninto the sitting room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that whenshe comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be asatisfaction to his majesty to regain it with his own hands. "

"And when will you call?"

"At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall have aclear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean acomplete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the king withoutdelay. "

We had reached Baker Street, and had stopped at the door. He wassearching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:

"Good night, Mister Sherlock Holmes. "

There were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greetingappeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by. 

"I've heard that voice before, " said Holmes staring down the dimlylighted street. "Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been?"

III

I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toastand coffee in the morning, when the King of Bohemia rushed into theroom. 

"You have really got it?" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by eithershoulder, and looking eagerly into his face. 

"Not yet. "

"But you have hopes?"

"I have hopes. "

"Then come. I am all impatience to be gone. "

"We must have a cab. "

"No, my brougham is waiting. "

"Then that will simplify matters. " We descended, and started off oncemore for Briony Lodge. 

"Irene Adler is married, " remarked Holmes. 

"Married! When?"

"Yesterday. "

"But to whom?"

"To an English lawyer named Norton. "

"But she could not love him. "

"I am in hopes that she does. "

"And why in hopes?"

"Because it would spare your majesty all fear of future annoyance. Ifthe lady loves her husband, she does not love your majesty. If she doesnot love your majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere withyour majesty's plan. "

"It is true. And yet--Well, I wish she had been of my own station. Whata queen she would have made!" He relapsed into a moody silence, whichwas not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue. 

The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon thesteps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from thebrougham. 

"Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she. 

"I am Mr. Holmes, " answered my companion, looking at her with aquestioning and rather startled gaze. 

"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left thismorning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for theContinent. "

"What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?"

"Never to return. "

"And the papers?" asked the King, hoarsely. "All is lost. "

"We shall see. " He pushed past the servant and rushed into thedrawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture wasscattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and opendrawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. Thephotograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter wassuperscribed to "Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for. " Myfriend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated atmidnight of the preceding night, and ran in this way:

 "My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, --You really did it very well. You took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had been told that, if the King employed an agent, it would certainly be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up-stairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed. 

 "Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband. 

 "We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, very truly yours, "Irene Norton, _née_ Adler. "

"What a woman--oh, what a woman!" cried the King of Bohemia, when we hadall three read this epistle. "Did I not tell you how quick and resoluteshe was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pitythat she was not on my level?"

"From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a verydifferent level to your Majesty, " said Holmes, coldly. "I am sorry thatI have not been able to bring your Majesty's business to a moresuccessful conclusion. "

"On the contrary, my dear sir, " cried the King; "nothing could be moresuccessful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now assafe as if it were in the fire. "

"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so. "

"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can rewardyou. This ring--" He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger andheld it out upon the palm of his hand. 

"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly, " saidHolmes. 

"You have but to name it. "

"This photograph!"

The King stared at him in amazement. 

"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it. "

"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. Ihave the honour to wish you a very good-morning. " He bowed, and, turningaway without observing the hand which the King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers. 

 * * * * *

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom ofBohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by awoman's wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but Ihave not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, orwhen he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourabletitle of _the_ woman. 

VI

THE ROPE OF FEAR[D]

MARY E. AND THOMAS W. HANSHEW

If you know anything of the country of Westmoreland, you will know thechief market-town of Merton Sheppard, and if you know Merton Sheppard, you will know there is only one important building in that town besidesthe massive Town Hall, and that building is the Westmoreland UnionBank--a private concern, well backed by every wealthy magnate in thesurrounding district, and patronized by everyone from the highest to thelowest degree. 

Anybody will point the building out to you, firstly because of itsimposing exterior, and secondly because everyone in the whole countybrings his money to Mr. Naylor-Brent, to do with it what he wills. ForMr. Naylor-Brent is the manager, and besides being known far and widefor his integrity, his uprightness of purpose, and his strict sense ofjustice, he acts to the poorer inhabitants of Merton Sheppard as a sortof father-confessor in all their troubles, both of a social and afinancial character. 

It was toward the last of September that the big robbery happened, andupon one sunny afternoon at the end of that month Mr. Naylor-Brent waspacing the narrow confines of his handsomely appointed room in the bank, visibly disturbed. That he was awaiting the arrival of someone wasevident by his frequent glances at the marble clock which stood upon themantel-shelf, and which bore across its base a silver plate upon whichwere inscribed the names of some fifteen or more "grateful customers"whose money had passed successfully through his managerial hands. 

At length the door opened, after a discreet knock upon its oaken panels, and an old, bent, and almost decrepit clerk ushered in the portly figureof Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent of Scotland Yard, followed by aheavily-built, dull-looking person in navy blue. 

Mr. Naylor-Brent's good-looking, rugged face took on an expression ofthe keenest relief. 

"Mr. Narkom himself! This is indeed more than I expected!" he said withextended hand. "We had the pleasure of meeting once in London, someyears ago. Perhaps you have forgotten--?"

Mr. Narkom's bland face wrinkled into a smile of appreciation. 

"Oh no, I haven't, " he returned pleasantly, "I remember quitedistinctly. I decided to answer your letter in person, and bring with meone of my best men--friend and colleague, you know--Mr. GeorgeHeadland. "

"Pleased to meet you, sir. And if you'll both sit down we can go intothe matter at once. That's a comfortable chair over there, Mr. Headland. "

They seated themselves, and Mr. Narkom, clearing his throat, proceededin his usual official manner to "take the floor. "

"I understand from headquarters, " said he, "that you have had anexceptionally large deposit of banknotes sent up from London forpayments in connection with your new canal. Isn't that so, Mr. Brent? Itrust the trouble you mentioned in your letter has nothing to do withthis money. "

Mr. Naylor-Brent's face paled considerably, and his voice had an anxiousnote in it when he spoke. 

"Gad, sir, but it has!" he ejaculated. "That's the trouble itself. Everysingle banknote is gone. £200, 000 is gone and not a trace of it! Heavenonly knows what I'm going to do about it, Mr. Narkom, but that's how thematter stands. Every penny is _gone_. "

"Gone!"

Mr. Narkom drew out a red silk handkerchief and wiped his foreheadvigorously--a sure sign of nervous excitement--while Mr. Headlandexclaimed loudly, "Well, I'm hanged!"

"Someone certainly will be, " rapped out Mr. Brent sharply. "For not onlyhave the notes vanished, but I've lost the best night-watchman I everhad, a good, trustworthy man--"

"Lost him?" put in Mr. Headland curiously. "What exactly do you mean bythat, Mr. Brent? Did he vanish with the notes?"

"What? Will Simmons? Never in this world! He's not that kind. The manthat offered Will Simmons a bribe to betray his trust would answer forit with his life. A more faithful servant, or better fellow never drewbreath. No it's dead he is, Mr. Headland, and--I can hardly speak of ityet! I feel so much to blame for putting him on the job at all, but yousee we've had a regular series of petty thefts lately; small sums unableto be accounted for, safes opened in the most mysterious manner, andmoney abstracted--though never any large sums fortunately--even theclerks' coats had not been left untouched. I have had a constant watchkept, but all in vain. So, naturally, when this big deposit came to handon Tuesday morning, I determined that special precautions should betaken at night, and put poor old Simmons down in the vault with thebank's watchdog for company. That was the last time I saw him alive! Hewas found writhing in convulsions and by the time that the doctorarrived upon the scene he was dead; the safe was found open, and everynote was _gone_!"

"Bad business indeed!" declared Mr. Headland with a shake of the head. "No idea as to the cause of death, Mr. Brent? What was the doctor'sverdict?"

Mr. Naylor-Brent's face clouded. 

"That's the very dickens of it, he didn't quite know. Said it wasevidently a case of poisoning, but was unable to decide further, or tofind out what sort of poison--if any--had been used. "

"Hmm. I see. And what did the local police say? Have they found anyclues yet?"

The manager flushed, and he gave vent to a forced laugh. 

"As a matter of fact, " he responded, "the local police know nothingabout it. I have kept the loss an entire secret until I could call inthe help of Scotland Yard. "

"A secret, Mr. Brent, with _such_ a loss!" ejaculated Mr. Narkom. "That's surely an unusual course to pursue. When a bank loses such alarge sum of money, and in banknotes--the most easily handled commodityin the world--and in addition a mysterious murder takes place, one wouldnaturally expect that the first act would be to call in the officers ofthe law, that is--unless--I see--"

"Well, it's more than I do!" responded Mr. Brent sadly. "Do you see anylight, however?"

"Hardly that. But it stands to reason that if you are prepared to makegood the loss--a course to which there seems no alternative--there is anobvious possibility that you yourself have some faint idea as to who thecriminal is, and are anxious that your suspicions should not beverified. "

Mr. Headland (otherwise Cleek) looked at his friend with considerableadmiration shining in his eyes. "Beginning to use his old head atlast!" he thought as he watched the Superintendent's keen face. "Well, well, it's never too late to mend, anyhow. " And then aloud, "Exactly mythought, Mr. Narkom. Perhaps Mr. Brent could enlighten us as to his ownsuspicions, for I'm positive that he has some tucked away somewhere inhis mind. "

"Jove, if you're not almost supernatural, Mr. Headland!" returned thatgentleman with a heavy sigh. "You have certainly unearthed somethingwhich I thought was hidden only in my own soul. That is exactly thereason I have kept silent; my suspicions were I to voice them, might--er--drag the person accused still deeper into the mire of his ownfoolishness. There's Patterson, for instance, he would arrest him onsight without the slightest compunction. "

"Patterson?" threw in Cleek quickly. "Patterson--the name's familiar. Don't suppose though, that it would be the same one--it is a commonenough name. Company promoter who made a pile on copper, the first yearof the war, and retired with 'the swag'--to put it brutally. 'Tisn'tthat chap I suppose?"

"The identical man!" returned Mr. Brent, excitedly. "He came here somefive years ago, bought up Mount Morris Court--a fine place having a viewof the whole town--and he has lately started to run an opposition bankto ours, doing everything in his power to overthrow my position here. It's--it's spite I believe, against myself as well as George. The youngfool had the impudence to ask his daughter's hand, and what was more, ran off with her and they were married, which increased Patterson'shatred of us both almost to insanity. "

"Hmm. I see, " said Cleek. "Who is George?"

"My stepson, Mr. Headland--unfortunately for me--my late wife's boy byher first marriage. I have to admit it regretfully enough, he was thecause of his mother's death. He literally broke her heart by his wildliving, and I was only too glad to give him a small allowance--whichhowever helped him with his unhappy marriage--and hoped to see the lastof George Barrington. "

Cleek twitched up an inquiring eyebrow. 

"Unhappy, Mr. Brent?" he queried. "But I understood from you a momentago it was a love match. "

"In the beginning it was purely a question of love, Mr. Headland, "responded the manager gravely. "But as you know, when poverty comes inat the door, love sometimes flies out of the window, and from allaccounts, the late Miss Patterson never ceases to regret the day shebecame Mrs. George Barrington. George has been hanging about here thislast week or two, and I noticed him trying to renew acquaintance withold Simmons only a day or two ago in the bar of the Rose and Anchor. He--he was also seen prowling round the bank on Tuesday night. So nowyou know why I was loath to set the ball rolling; old man Pattersonwould lift the sky to get the chance to have that young wasterimprisoned, to say nothing of defaming my personal character at the sametime. 

"Sooner than that I must endeavour to raise sufficient money by privatemeans to replace the notes--but the death of old Simmons is, of course, another matter. His murderer must and shall be brought to justice, whileI have a penny piece in my pocket. "

His voice broke suddenly into a harsh sob, and for a moment his handscovered his face. Then he shook himself free of his emotion. 

"We will all do our best on that score, Mr. Brent, " said Mr. Narkom, after a somewhat lengthy silence. "It is a most unfortunate tragedyindeed, almost a dual one, one might say, but I think you can safelytrust yourself in our hands, eh, Headland?"

Cleek bowed his head, while Mr. Brent smiled appreciation of theSuperintendent's kindly sympathy. 

"I know I can, " he said warmly. "Believe me, Mr. Narkom, and you, too, Mr. Headland, I am perfectly content to leave myself with you. But Ihave my suspicions, and strong ones they are too, and I would not mindlaying a bet that Patterson has engineered the whole scheme and isquietly laughing up his sleeve at me. "

"That's a bold assertion, Mr. Brent, " put in Cleek quietly. 

"But justified by facts, Mr. Headland. He has twice tried to bribeSimmons away from me, and last year offered Calcott, my head clerk, asum of £5000 to let him have the list of our clients. "

"Oho!" said Cleek in two different tones. "One of that sort is he? Notcontent with a fortune won by profiteering, he must try and ruin others;and having failed to get hold of your list of clients, he tries thebogus theft game, and gambles on that. Hmm! Well, young Barrington maybe only a coincidence after all, Mr. Brent. I shouldn't worry too muchabout him if I were you. Suppose you tell Mr. Narkom and myself thedetails, right from the beginning, please? When was the murderdiscovered and who discovered it?"

Mr. Naylor-Brent leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily, as hepolished his gold glasses. 

"For an affair of such tragic importance, Mr. Headland, " he said, "it issingularly lacking in details. There is really nothing more to tell youthan that at 6 o'clock, when I myself retired from the bank to myprivate rooms overhead, I left poor Simmons on guard over the safe; atnine o'clock I was fetched down by the inspector on the beat, who hadleft young Wilson with the body. After that--"

Cleek lifted a silencing hand. 

"One moment, " he said. "Who is young Wilson, Mr. Brent, and why shouldhe instead of the inspector have been left alone with the body?"

"Wilson is one of the cashiers, Mr. Headland--a nice lad, but of noparticular education. It seems he found the bank's outer door unlatched, and called up the constable on the beat; as luck would have it theinspector happened along, and down they went into the vaults together. But as to why the inspector left young Wilson with the body instead ofsending him up for me--well, frankly I had never given the thing athought until now. "

"I see. Funny thing this chap Wilson should have made straight for thevaults though. Did he expect a murder or robbery beforehand? Was heacquainted with the fact that the notes were there, Mr. Brent?"

"No. He knew nothing whatever about them. No one did--that is no one butthe head clerk, Mr. Calcott, myself and old Simmons. In bank matters youknow the less said about such things the better, and--"

Mr. Narkom nodded. 

"Very wise, very wise indeed!" he said, approvingly. "One can't be toocareful in money matters, and if I may say so, bank pay being none toohigh, the temptation must sometimes be rather great. I've a couple ofnephews in the bank myself--"

Cleek's eyes suddenly silenced him as though there had been a spokenword. 

"This Wilson, Mr. Brent, " Cleek asked quietly, "is he a young man?"

"Oh--quite young. Not more than four or five and twenty, I should say. Came from London with an excellent reference, and so far has given everysatisfaction. Universal favourite with the firm, and also with oldSimmons himself. I believe the two used sometimes to lunch together, andwere firm friends. It seems almost a coincidence that the old man shouldhave died in the boy's arms. "

"He made no statement, I suppose, before he died, to give an idea of theassassin? But of course you wouldn't know that, as you weren't there. "

"As it happens I do, Mr. Headland. Young Wilson, who is frightfullyupset--in fact the shock of the thing has completely shattered hisnerves, never very strong at the best of times--says that the old manjust writhed and writhed, and muttered something about a rope. Then hefell back dead. "

"A rope?" said Cleek in surprise. "Was he tied or bound then?"

"That's just it. There was no sign of anything whatever to do with arope about him. It was possibly a death delusion, or something of thesort. Perhaps the poor old chap was semi-conscious. "

"Undoubtedly. And now just one more question, Mr. Brent, before I tireyour patience out. We policemen, you know, are terrible nuisances. Whattime was it when young Wilson discovered the door of the bankunlatched?"

"About half-past nine. I had just noticed my clock striking the halfhour, when I was disturbed by the inspector--"

"And wasn't it a bit unusual for a clerk to come back to the bank atthat hour--unless he was working overtime?"

Mr. Naylor-Brent's fine head went back with a gesture which conveyed toCleek the knowledge that he was not in a habit of working any of hisemployees beyond the given hours. 

"He was doing nothing of the sort, Mr. Headland, " he responded, a triflebrusquely. "Our firm is particularly keen about the question of workinghours. Wilson tells me he came back for his watch which he left behindhim, and--"

"And the door was conveniently unlatched and ready, so he simply fetchedin the inspector, and took him straight down into the vaults. Didn't gethis watch, I suppose?"

Mr. Naylor-Brent jumped suddenly to his feet, all his self-possessiongone for the moment. 

"Gad! I never thought of that. Hang it! man, you're making a biggerpuzzle of it than ever. You're not insinuating that that boy murderedold Simmons, are you? I can't believe that. "

"I'm not insinuating anything, " responded Cleek blandly, "but I have tolook at things from every angle there is. When you got downstairs withthe inspector, Mr. Brent, did you happen to notice the safe or not?"

"Yes, I did. Indeed, I fear that was my first thought--it was natural, with £200, 000 Bank of England notes to be responsible for--and at firstI thought everything was all right. Then young Wilson told me that hehimself had closed the safe door. .. . What are you smiling at, Mr. Headland? It's no laughing matter, I assure you!"

The queer little one-sided smile, so indicative of the man, travelledfor a moment up Cleek's cheek and was gone again in a twinkling. 

"Nothing, " he responded briefly. "Just a passing thought. Then you meanto say young Wilson closed the safe. Did he know the notes had vanished?But of course you said he knew nothing of them. But if they were therewhen he looked in--"

His voice trailed off into silence, and he let the rest of the sentencego by default. Mr. Brent's face flushed crimson with excitement. 

"Why, at that rate, " he ejaculated, "the money wasn't stolen until youngWilson sent the inspector up for me. And we let him walk quietly out!You were right, Mr. Headland, if I had only done my duty and toldInspector Corkran at once--"

"Steady man, steady. I don't say it _is_ so, " put in Cleek with a quietlittle smile. "I'm only trying to find light--"

"And making it a dashed sight blacker still, begging your pardon, "returned Mr. Brent briskly. 

"That's as may be. But the devil isn't always as black as he ispainted, " responded Cleek. "I'd like to see this Wilson, Mr. Brent, unless he is so ill he hasn't been able to attend the office. "

"Oh he's back at work to-day, and I'll have him here in a twinkling. "

And almost in a twinkling he arrived--a young, slim, pallid youngster, rather given to over-brightness in his choice of ties, and somewhatbetter dressed than is the lot of most bank clerks. Cleek noted thepearl pin, the well-cut suit he wore, and for a moment his face wore astrange look. 

Mr. Naylor-Brent's brisk voice broke the silence. 

"These gentlemen are from Scotland Yard, Wilson, " he said sharply, "andthey want to know just what happened here on Tuesday night. Tell themall you know, please. "

Young Wilson's pale face went a queer drab shade like newly baked bread. He began to tremble visibly. 

"Happened, sir--happened?" he stammered. "How should I know whathappened? I--I only got there just in time and--"

"Yes, yes. We know just when you got there, Mr. Wilson, " said Cleek, "but what we want to know is what induced you to go down into the vaultswhen you fetched the inspector? It seemed a rather unnecessary journeyto say the least of it. "

"I heard a cry--at least--"

"Right through the closed door of a nine-inch concrete-walled vault, Wilson?" struck in Mr. Brent promptly. "Simmons had been shut in thereby myself, Mr. Headland, and--"

"Shut in, Mr. Brent? Shut in, did you say? Then how did Mr. Wilson here, and the inspector enter?"

Young Wilson stretched out his hand imploringly. 

"The door was open, " he stammered. "I swear it on my honour. And thesafe was open, and--and the notes were gone!"

"What notes?" It was Mr. Brent's voice which broke the momentarysilence, as he realized the significance of the admission. For answerthe young man dropped his face into his shaking hands. 

"Oh, the notes--the £200, 000! You may think what you like, sir, but Iswear I am innocent! I never touched the money, nor did I touch my--Mr. Simmons. I swear it, I swear it!"

"Don't swear too strongly, or you may have to 'un-swear' again, " struckin Cleek, severely. "Mr. Narkom and I would like to have a look at thevault itself, and see the body, if you have no objection. "

"Certainly. Wilson, you had better come along with us, we might needyou. This way, gentlemen. "

Speaking, the manager rose to his feet, opened the door of his privateoffice, and proceeded downstairs by way of an equally private staircaseto the vaults below. Cleek, Mr. Narkom and young Wilson--very muchagitated at the coming ordeal--brought up the rear. As they passed thedoor leading into the bank, for the use of the clerks, old Calcott cameout, and paused respectfully in front of the manager. 

"If you excuse me, sir, " he said, "I thought perhaps you might like tosee this. "

He held out a Bank of England £5 note, and Mr. Brent took it andexamined it critically. Then a little cry broke from his lips. 

"A. 541063!" he exclaimed. "Good Heavens, Calcott, where did this comefrom? Who--?"

Calcott rubbed his old hands together as though he were enjoying atit-bit with much satisfaction. 

"Half-an-hour ago, sir, Mr. George Barrington brought it in, and wantedsmaller change. "

George Barrington! The members of the little party looked at one anotherin amazement, and Cleek noticed for a moment that young Wilson's tenseface relaxed. Mr. George Barrington, eh? The curious little one-sidedsmile travelled up Cleek's cheek and was gone. The party continued theirway downstairs, somewhat silenced by this new development. 

A narrow, dark corridor led to the vault itself, which was by no means alarge chamber, but remarkable for the extreme solidity of its building. It was concrete, as most vaults are, and lit only by a single electriclight, which, when switched on, shone dully against the gray stonewalls. The only ventilation it boasted was provided by means of a row ofsmall holes, about an inch in diameter, across one wall--that nearest tothe passage--and exactly facing the safe. So small were they that itseemed almost as if not even a mouse could get through one of them, should a mouse be so minded. These holes were placed so low down that itwas physically impossible to see through them, and though Cleek's eyesnoted their appearance there in the vault, he said nothing and seemed topay them little attention. 

A speedy glance round the room gave him all the details of it! The safeagainst the wall, the figure of the old bank servant beside it, sleepinghis last sleep, and guarding the vault in death as he had not been ableto do in life. Cleek crossed toward him, and then stopped suddenly, peering down at what seemed a little twist of paper. 

"Hullo!" he said. "Surely you don't allow smoking in the vault, Mr. Brent? Not that it could do much harm but--"

"Certainly not, Mr. Headland, " returned the manager warmly. "That isstrictly against orders. " He glared at young Wilson, who, nervous as hehad been before, became obviously more flustered than ever. 

"I don't smoke, sir, " he stammered in answer to that managerial look ofaccusation. 

"Glad to hear it. " Cleek stroked his cigarette case lovingly inside hispocket as though in apology for the libel. "But it's my mistake; not acigarette end at all, just a twist of paper. Of no account anyway. " Hestooped to pick it up, and then giving his hand a flirt, appeared tohave tossed it away. Only Mr. Narkom, used to the ways of his famousassociate, saw that he had "palmed" it into his pocket. Then Cleekcrossed the room and stood a moment looking down at the body, lyingthere huddled and distorted in the death agony that had so cruelly andmysteriously seized it. 

So this was Will Simmons. Well, if the face is any index to thecharacter--which in nine cases out of ten it isn't--then Mr. Naylor-Brent's confidence had certainly not been misplaced. A fine, clean, rugged face this, with set lips, a face that would never fail afriend, and never forgive an enemy. Young Wilson, who had stepped upbeside Cleek, shivered suddenly as he looked down at the body, andclosed his eyes. 

Mr. Brent's voice broke the silence that the sight of death so oftenbrings. 

"I think, " he said quietly, "if you don't mind, gentlemen, I'll get backto my office. There are important matters at stake just now, so ifyou'll excuse me--It's near closing time you know, and there are manyimportant matters to see to. Wilson, you stay here with these gentlemen, and render any assistance that you can. Show them round if they wish it. You need not resume work to-day. Anything which you wish to know, pleasecall upon me. "

"Thanks. We'll remember, " Cleek bowed ceremoniously, as the managerretreated, "but no doubt Mr. Wilson here will give us all the assistancewe require, Mr. Brent. We'll make an examination of the body first, andlet you know the verdict. "

The door closed on Mr. Brent's figure, and Cleek and Mr. Narkom andyoung Wilson were alone with the dead. 

Cleek went down upon his knees before the still figure, and examined itfrom end to end. The clenched hands were put to the keenest scrutiny, but he passed no comment, only glancing now and again from those samehands to the figure of the young cashier who stood trembling beside him. 

"Hmm, convulsions, " he finally said softly to himself, and Mr. Narkomwatched his face with intense eagerness. "Might be aconite--but howadministered?" Again he stood silent, his brain moving swiftly down anavenue of thought, and if the thoughts could have been seen, they shouldhave shown something like this: Convulsions--writhing--twisting--tied upin knots of pain--a _rope_. 

Suddenly he wheeled swiftly upon Wilson, his face a mask for hisemotions. 

"Look here, " he said sternly, "I want you to tell me the exact truth, Mr. Wilson. It's the wisest way when dealing with the police, you know. Are you positively certain Simmons said nothing as to the cause of hisdeath? What exactly were his last words to you?"

"I begged him to tell me who it was who had injured him, " repliedWilson, in a shaking voice, "but all he could say was, 'The rope--mindthe Rope--the Rope of Fear--the Rope of Fear, ' and then he was gone. But there was no sign of any rope, Mr. Headland, and I can't imaginewhat the dear old man was driving at. And now to think he isdead--dead--"

His voice broke and was silent for a moment. Once again Cleek spoke. 

"And you saw nothing, heard nothing?"

"Well--I hardly know. There was a sound--a faint whisper, reedlike andthin, almost like a long drawn sigh. I really thought I must haveimagined it, and when I listened again it had gone. After that I rushedto the safe and--"

"Why did you do that?"

"Because he had told me at dinner-time about the notes, and made mepromise I wouldn't mention it, and I was afraid someone had stolenthem. "

"Is it likely that anyone overheard your conversation then? Where wereyou lunching?"

"In the Rose and Crown, " Wilson's voice trembled again as though theactual recalling of the thing terrified him anew. "Simmons and I oftenhad lunch together. There was no one else at our table, and the placewas practically empty. The only person near was old Ramagee, the blackchap who keeps the Indian bazaar in the town. He's an old inhabitant, but even now hardly understands English, and most of the time he's sodrugged with opium, that if did hear he'd never understand. He wascertainly blind to the world that lunch time, because my--my friend, Simmons, I mean, noticed it. "

"Indeed!" Cleek stroked his chin thoughtfully for some moments. Then hesniffed the air, and uttered a casual remark: "Fond of sweets still, areyou Mr. Wilson? Peppermint drops, or aniseed balls, eh?"

Mr. Narkom's eyes fairly bulged with amazement, and young Wilson flushedangrily. 

"I am not such a fool as all that, Mr. Headland, " he said quickly. "If Idon't smoke, I certainly don't go about sucking candy like a Kid. Inever cared for 'em as a youngster, and I haven't had any for a cat'sage. What made you ask?"

"Nothing, simply my fancy. " But, nevertheless, Cleek continued to sniff, and then suddenly with a little excited sound went down on his hands andknees and began examining the stone floor. 

"It's not possible--and yet--and yet, I must be right, " he said softly, getting to his feet at last. "'A rope of fear' was what he said, wasn'tit? 'A rope of fear. '" He crossed suddenly to the safe, and bending overit, examined the handle and doors critically. And at the moment Mr. Brent reappeared. Cleek switched round upon his heel, and smiled acrossat him. 

"Able to spare us a little more of your valuable time, Mr. Brent?" hesaid politely. "Well, I was just coming up. There's nothing really to begained here. I have been looking over the safe for finger-prints, andthere's not much doubt about whose they are. Mr. Wilson here had bettercome upstairs and tell us just exactly what he did with the notes, and--"

Young Wilson's face went suddenly gray. He clenched his hands togetherand breathed hard like a spent runner. 

"I tell you, they were gone, " he cried desperately. "They were gone. Ilooked for them, and didn't find them. They were gone--gone--gone!"

But Cleek seemed not to take the slightest notice of him, and swingingupon his heel followed in the wake of the manager's broad back, whileWilson perforce had to return with Mr. Narkom. Half way up the stairs, however, Cleek suddenly stopped, and gave vent to a hurried ejaculation. 

"Silly idiot that I am!" he said crossly. "I have left my magnifyingglass on top of the safe--and it's the most necessary tool we policemenhave. Don't bother to come, Mr. Brent, if you'll just lend me the keysof the vault. Thanks, I'll be right back. "

It was certainly not much more than a moment when he did return, and theother members of the little party had barely reached the private officewhen he fairly rushed in after them. There was a look of supremesatisfaction in his eyes. 

"Here it is, " he said, lifting the glass up for all to see. "And lookhere, Mr. Brent, I've changed my mind about discussing the matter anyfurther here. The best thing you can do is to go down in a cab with Mr. Narkom to the police station, and get a warrant for this young man'sarrest--no, don't speak, Mr. Wilson, I've not finished yet--and take himalong with you. I will stay here and just scribble down the facts. It'llsave no end of bother, and we can take our man straight up to Londonwith us, under proper arrest. I shan't be more than ten minutes at themost. "

Mr. Brent nodded assent. 

"As you please, Mr. Headland, " he said gravely. "We'll go along at once. Wilson, you understand you are to come with us? It's no use trying toget away from it, man, you're up against it now. You'd better just keepa stiff upper lip and face the music. I'm ready, Mr. Narkom. "

Quietly they took their departure, in a hastily found cab, leavingCleek, the picture of stolid policemanism, with notebook and pencil inhand, busily inscribing what he was pleased to call "the facts. "

Only "ten minutes" Cleek had asked for, but it was nearer twenty beforehe was ushered out of the side entrance of the bank by the oldhousekeeper, and though perhaps it was only sheer luck that caused himto nearly tumble into the arms of Mr. George Barrington--whom herecognized from the word picture of that gentleman given by Mr. Brentsome time before--it was decidedly by arrangement that, after a fewcareless words on the part of Cleek, Barrington, his face blank withastonishment, accompanied this stranger down to the police station. 

They found a grim little party awaiting them but at sight of Cleek'sface Mr. Narkom started forward, and put a hand upon his friend's arm. 

"What have you found, Headland?" he asked excitedly. 

"Just what I expected to find, " came the triumphant reply. "Now, Mr. Wilson, you are going to hear the end of the story. Do you want to seewhat I found, gentlemen? Here it is. " He fumbled in his big coat pocketfor a moment and pulled out a parcel which crackled crisply. "Thenotes!"

"Good God!"

It was young Wilson who spoke. 

"Yes, a _very_ good God--even to sinners, Mr. Wilson. We don't alwaysdeserve all the goodness we get, you know, " Cleek went on. "The notesare found you see; the notes, you murderer, you despicable thief, thenotes which were entrusted to your care by the innocent people whopinned their faith to you. "

Speaking, he leaped forward, past the waiting inspector and Mr. Narkom, past the shabby, down-at-heel figure of George Barrington, past theslim, shaking Wilson, and straight at the substantial figure of Mr. Naylor-Brent, as he stood leaning with one arm upon the inspector's highdesk. 

So surprising, so unexpected was the attack, that this victim wasoverpowered and the bracelets snapped upon his wrists before anyonepresent had begun to realize exactly what had happened. 

Then Cleek rose to his feet. 

"What's that, Inspector?" he said in answer to a hurriedly spoken query. "A mistake? Oh dear, no. No mistake whatever. Our friend hereunderstands that quite well. Thought you'd have escaped with that£200, 000 and left your confederate to bear the brunt of the whole thing, did you? Or else young Wilson here whom you'd so terrorized! A verypretty plot indeed, only Hamilton Cleek happened to come along insteadof Mr. George Headland, and show you a thing or two about plots. "

"Hamilton Cleek!" The name fell from every pair of lips, and even Brenthimself stared at this wizard whom all the world knew, and whounfortunately had crossed his path when he least wanted him. 

"Yes, Hamilton Cleek, gentlemen. Cleek of Scotland Yard. And a very goodthing for you, Mr. Wilson, that I happened to come along. Things lookedvery black for you, you know, and those beastly nerves of yours made itworse. And if it hadn't been for this cad's confederate--"

"Confederate, Mr. Cleek?" put in Wilson shakily. "I--I don't understand. Who could have been his confederate?"

"None other than old Ramagee, " responded Cleek. "You'll find him druggedas usual, in the Rose and Crown. I've seen him there only a while ago. But now he is minus a constant companion of his. .. . And here is theactual murderer. "

He put his hand into another capacious pocket and drew forth a smallish, glass box. 

"The Rope of Fear, gentlemen, " he said quietly, "a vicious littlerattler of the most deadly sort. And it won't be long before thatgentleman there becomes acquainted with another sort of rope. Take himaway, Inspector. The bare sight of him hurts an honest man's eyes. "

And they took him away forthwith, a writhing, furious Thing, utterlytransformed from the genial personality which had for so long swindledand outwitted a trusting public. 

As the door closed upon them, Cleek turned to young Wilson and held outhis hand. 

"I'm sorry to have accused you as I did, " he said softly, with a littlesmile, "but that is a policeman's way, you know. Strategy is part of thegame--though it was a poor trick of mine to cause you additional pain. You must forgive me. I don't doubt the death of your father was a greatshock, although you tried manfully to conceal the relationship. No doubtit was his wish--not yours. "

A sudden transformation came over Wilson's pale, haggard face. It waslike the sun shining after a heavy storm. 

"You--knew?" he said, over and over again. "You _knew_? Oh, Mr. Cleek, now I can speak out at last. Father always made me promise to be silent, he--he wanted me to be a gentleman, and he'd spent every penny hepossessed to get me well enough educated to enter the bank. He was madfor money, mad for anything which was going to better my position. And--and I was afraid when he told me about the notes, he might betempted--Oh! It was dreadful of me, I know, to think of it, but I knewhe doted upon me, I was afraid he might try and take one or two of them, hoping they wouldn't be missed out of so great an amount. You see we'dbeen in money difficulties and were still paying my college fees offafter all this time. So I went back to keep watch with him--and foundhim dying--though how you _knew_--"

His voice trailed off into silence, and Cleek smiled kindly. 

"By the identical shape of your hands, my boy. I never saw two pairs ofhands so much alike in all my life. And then your agitation made me riskthe guess. .. . What's that, Inspector? How was the murder committed, andwhat did this little rattler have to do with it? Well, quite simple. Thesnake was put in the safe with the notes, and a trail of aniseed--ofwhich snakes are very fond, you know--laid from there to the foot of oldSimmons. The safe door was left ajar--though in the half dusk the oldman certainly never noticed it. I found all this out from those fewwords of Wilson's about 'the rope, ' and from his having heard areed-like sound. I had to do some hard thinking, I can tell you. When Iwent downstairs again, Mr. Narkom, after my magnifying glass, I turneddown poor Simmons's sock and found the mark I expected--the snake hadcrawled up his leg and struck home. 

"Why did I suspect Mr. Brent? Well, it was obvious almost from the veryfirst, for he was so anxious to throw suspicion upon Mr. Barringtonhere, and Wilson--with Patterson thrown in for good measure. Then againit was certain that no one else would have been allowed into the vaultby Simmons, much less to go to the safe itself, and open it with thekeys. That he did go to the safe was apparent by the finger prints uponit, and as they too smelt of aniseed, the whole thing began to lookdecidedly funny. The trail of aniseed led straight up to where Simmonslay, so I can only suppose that after Brent released the snake--thetrail of course having been laid beforehand, when he was alone--Brentmust have stood and waited until he saw it actually strike, and--How doI know that, Mr. Wilson? Well, he smoked a cigarette there, anyhow. Thestub I found bore the same name as those in his box, and it was smokedidentically the same way as a couple which lay in his ashtray. 

"I could only conclude that he was waiting for something to happen, andas the snake struck, he grabbed up the bundle of notes, quite forgettingto close the safe-door, and rushed out of the vault. Ramagee was in thecorridor outside, and probably whistled the snake back through theventilating holes near the floor, instead of venturing near the bodyhimself. You remember, you heard the sound of that pipe, Mr. Wilson?Ramagee probably made his escape while the Inspector was upstairs. Unfortunately for him, he ran right into Mr. George Barrington here, andwhen, as he tells me, he later told Brent about seeing Ramagee, well, the whole thing became as plain as a pikestaff. "

"Yes, " put in George Barrington, excitedly, taking up the tale in hisweak, rather silly voice, "my step-father refused to believe me, andgave me £20 in notes to go away. I suppose he didn't notice they weresome of the stolen ones. I changed one of them at the bank this morning, but I had no idea how important they were until I knocked into Mr. --Mr. Cleek here. And he made me come along with him. "

Mr. Narkom looked at Cleek, and Cleek looked at Mr. Narkom, and theblank wonder in the Superintendent's eyes caused him to smile. 

"Another feather in the cap of foolish old Scotland Yard, isn't it?" hesaid. "Time we made tracks I think. Coming our way, Mr. Wilson? We'llsee you back home if you like. You're too upset to go on alone. Goodafternoon, Inspector and--good-bye. I'll leave the case with you. It'ssafe enough in your hands, but if you take my tip you'll put that humanbeast in as tight a lock-up as the station affords. "

Then he linked one arm in Mr. Narkom's and the other arm in that of theadmiring, and wholly speechless Wilson, and went out into the sunshine. 

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote D: From _Short Stories_. --Dec. , 1919. ]

VII

THE SAFETY MATCH[E]

ANTON CHEKHOV

I

On the morning of October 6, 1885, in the office of the Inspector ofPolice of the second division of S-- District, there appeared arespectably dressed young man, who announced that his master, MarcusIvanovitch Klausoff, a retired officer of the Horse Guards, separatedfrom his wife, had been murdered. While making this announcement theyoung man was white and terribly agitated. His hands trembled and hiseyes were full of terror. 

"Whom have I the honour of addressing?" asked the inspector. 

"Psyekoff, Lieutenant Klausoff's agent; agriculturist and mechanician!"

The inspector and his deputy, on visiting the scene of the occurrence incompany with Psyekoff, found the following: Near the wing in whichKlausoff had lived was gathered a dense crowd. The news of the murderhad sped swift as lightning through the neighbourhood, and thepeasantry, thanks to the fact that the day was a holiday, had hurriedtogether from all the neighbouring villages. There was much commotionand talk. Here and there, pale, tear-stained faces were seen. The doorof Klausoff's bedroom was found locked. The key was inside. 

"It is quite clear that the scoundrels got in by the window!" saidPsyekoff as they examined the door. 

They went to the garden, into which the bedroom window opened. Thewindow looked dark and ominous. It was covered by a faded green curtain. One corner of the curtain was slightly turned up, which made it possibleto look into the bedroom. 

"Did any of you look into the window?" asked the inspector. 

"Certainly not, your worship!" answered Ephraim, the gardener, a littlegray-haired old man, who looked like a retired sergeant. "Who's going tolook in, if all their bones are shaking?"

"Ah, Marcus Ivanovitch, Marcus Ivanovitch!" sighed the inspector, looking at the window, "I told you you would come to a bad end! I toldthe dear man, but he wouldn't listen! Dissipation doesn't bring anygood!"

"Thanks to Ephraim, " said Psyekoff; "but for him, we would never haveguessed. He was the first to guess that something was wrong. He comes tome this morning, and says: 'Why is the master so long getting up? Hehasn't left his bedroom for a whole week!' The moment he said that, itwas just as if someone had hit me with an axe. The thought flashedthrough my mind, 'We haven't had a sight of him since last Saturday, andto-day is Sunday'! Seven whole days--not a doubt of it!"

"Ay, poor fellow!" again sighed the inspector. "He was a clever fellow, finely educated, and kind-hearted at that! And in society, nobody couldtouch him! But he was a waster, God rest his soul! I was prepared foranything since he refused to live with Olga Petrovna. Poor thing, a goodwife, but a sharp tongue! Stephen!" the inspector called to one of hisdeputies, "go over to my house this minute, and send Andrew to thecaptain to lodge an information with him! Tell him that MarcusIvanovitch has been murdered. And run over to the orderly; why should hesit there, kicking his heels? Let him come here! And go as fast as youcan to the examining magistrate, Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch. Tell him tocome over here! Wait; I'll write him a note!"

The inspector posted sentinels around the wing, wrote a letter to theexamining magistrate, and then went over to the director's for a glassof tea. Ten minutes later he was sitting on a stool, carefully nibblinga lump of sugar, and swallowing the scalding tea. 

"There you are!" he was saying to Psyekoff; "there you are! A noble bybirth! a rich man--a favourite of the gods, you may say, as Pushkin hasit, and what did he come to? He drank and dissipated and--there youare--he's murdered. "

After a couple of hours the examining magistrate drove up. NicholasYermolaïyevitch Chubikoff--for that was the magistrate's name--was atall, fleshy old man of sixty, who had been wrestling with the duties ofhis office for a quarter of a century. Everybody in the district knewhim as an honest man, wise, energetic, and in love with his work. He wasaccompanied to the scene of the murder by his inveterate companion, fellow worker, and secretary, Dukovski, a tall young fellow oftwenty-six. 

"Is it possible, gentlemen?" cried Chubikoff, entering Psyekoff's room, and quickly shaking hands with everyone. "Is it possible? MarcusIvanovitch? Murdered? No! It is impossible! Im-poss-i-ble!"

"Go in there!" sighed the inspector. 

"Lord, have mercy on us! Only last Friday I saw him at the fair inFarabankoff. I had a drink of vodka with him, save the mark!"

"Go in there!" again sighed the inspector. 

They sighed, uttered exclamations of horror, drank a glass of tea each, and went to the wing. 

"Get back!" the orderly cried to the peasants. 

Going to the wing, the examining magistrate began his work by examiningthe bedroom door. The door proved to be of pine, painted yellow, and wasuninjured. Nothing was found which could serve as a clew. They had tobreak in the door. 

"Everyone not here on business is requested to keep away!" said themagistrate, when, after much hammering and shaking, the door yielded toaxe and chisel. "I request this, in the interest of the investigation. Orderly, don't let anyone in!"

Chubikoff, his assistant, and the inspector opened the door, andhesitatingly, one after the other, entered the room. Their eyes met thefollowing sight: Beside the single window stood the big wooden bed witha huge feather mattress. On the crumpled feather bed lay a tumbled, crumpled quilt. The pillow, in a cotton pillow-case, also much crumpled, was dragging on the floor. On the table beside the bed lay a silverwatch and a silver twenty-kopeck piece. Beside them lay some sulphurmatches. Beside the bed, the little table, and the single chair, therewas no furniture in the room. Looking under the bed, the inspector saw acouple of dozen empty bottles, an old straw hat, and a quart of vodka. Under the table lay one top boot, covered with dust. Casting a glancearound the room, the magistrate frowned and grew red in the face. 

"Scoundrels!" he muttered, clenching his fists. 

"And where is Marcus Ivanovitch?" asked Dukovski in a low voice. 

"Mind your own business!" Chubikoff answered roughly. "Be good enough toexamine the floor! This is not the first case of the kind I have had todeal with! Eugraph Kuzmitch, " he said, turning to the inspector, andlowering his voice, "in 1870 I had another case like this. But you mustremember it--the murder of the merchant Portraitoff. It was just thesame there. The scoundrels murdered him, and dragged the corpse outthrough the window--"

Chubikoff went up to the window, pulled the curtain to one side, andcarefully pushed the window. The window opened. 

"It opens, you see! It wasn't fastened. Hm! There are tracks under thewindow. Look! There is the track of a knee! Somebody got in there. Wemust examine the window thoroughly. "

"There is nothing special to be found on the floor, " said Dukovski. "Nostains or scratches. The only thing I found was a struck safety match. Here it is! So far as I remember, Marcus Ivanovitch did not smoke. Andhe always used sulphur matches, never safety matches. Perhaps thissafety match may serve as a clew!"

"Oh, do shut up!" cried the magistrate deprecatingly. "You go on aboutyour match! I can't abide these dreamers! Instead of chasing matches, you had better examine the bed!"

After a thorough examination of the bed, Dukovski reported:

"There are no spots, either of blood or of anything else. There arelikewise no new torn places. On the pillow there are signs of teeth. Thequilt is stained with something which looks like beer and smells likebeer. The general aspect of the bed gives grounds for thinking that astruggle took place on it. "

"I know there was a struggle, without your telling me! You are not beingasked about a struggle. Instead of looking for struggles, you hadbetter--"

"Here is one top boot, but there is no sign of the other. "

"Well, and what of that?"

"It proves that they strangled him, while he was taking his boots off. He hadn't time to take the second boot off when--"

"There you go!--and how do you know they strangled him?"

"There are marks of teeth on the pillow. The pillow itself is badlycrumpled, and thrown a couple of yards from the bed. "

"Listen to his foolishness! Better come into the garden. You would bebetter employed examining the garden than digging around here. I can dothat without you!"

When they reached the garden they began by examining the grass. Thegrass under the window was crushed and trampled. A bushy burdock growingunder the window close to the wall was also trampled. Dukovski succeededin finding on it some broken twigs and a piece of cotton wool. On theupper branches were found some fine hairs of dark blue wool. 

"What colour was his last suit?" Dukovski asked Psyekoff. 

"Yellow crash. "

"Excellent! You see they wore blue!"

A few twigs of the burdock were cut off, and carefully wrapped in paperby the investigators. At this point Police Captain ArtsuybasheffSvistakovski and Dr. Tyutyeff arrived. The captain bade them "Good day!"and immediately began to satisfy his curiosity. The doctor, a tall, verylean man, with dull eyes, a long nose, and a pointed chin, withoutgreeting anyone or asking about anything, sat down on a log, sighed, andbegan:

"The Servians are at war again! What in heaven's name can they want now?Austria, it's all your doing!"

The examination of the window from the outside did not supply anyconclusive data. The examination of the grass and the bushes nearest tothe window yielded a series of useful clews. For example, Dukovskisucceeded in discovering a long, dark streak, made up of spots, on thegrass, which led some distance into the centre of the garden. The streakended under one of the lilac bushes in a dark brown stain. Under thissame lilac bush was found a top boot, which turned out to be the fellowof the boot already found in the bedroom. 

"That is a blood stain made some time ago, " said Dukovski, examining thespot. 

At the word "blood" the doctor rose, and going over lazily, looked atthe spot. 

"Yes, it is blood!" he muttered. 

"That shows he wasn't strangled, if there was blood, " said Chubikoff, looking sarcastically at Dukovski. 

"They strangled him in the bedroom; and here, fearing he might comeround again, they struck him a blow with some sharp-pointed instrument. The stain under the bush proves that he lay there a considerable time, while they were looking about for some way of carrying him out of thegarden. "

"Well, and how about the boot?"

"The boot confirms completely my idea that they murdered him while hewas taking his boots off before going to bed. He had already taken offone boot, and the other, this one here, he had only had time to takehalf off. The half-off boot came off of itself, while the body wasdragged over, and fell--"

"There's a lively imagination for you!" laughed Chubikoff. "He goes onand on like that! When will you learn enough to drop your deductions?Instead of arguing and deducing, it would be much better if you tooksome of the blood-stained grass for analysis!"

When they had finished their examination, and drawn a plan of thelocality, the investigators went to the director's office to write theirreport and have breakfast. While they were breakfasting they went ontalking:

"The watch, the money, and so on--all untouched--" Chubikoff began, leading off the talk, "show as clearly as that two and two are fourthat the murder was not committed for the purpose of robbery. "

"The murder was committed by an educated man!" insisted Dukovski. 

"What evidence have you of that?"

"The safety match proves that to me, for the peasants hereabouts are notyet acquainted with safety matches. Only the landowners use them, and byno means all of them. And it is evident that there was not one murderer, but at least three. Two held him, while one killed him. Klausoff wasstrong, and the murderers must have known it!"

"What good would his strength be, supposing he was asleep?"

"The murderers came on him while he was taking off his boots. If he wastaking off his boots, that proves that he wasn't asleep!"

"Stop inventing your deductions! Better eat!"

"In my opinion, your worship, " said the gardener Ephraim, setting thesamovar on the table, "it was nobody but Nicholas who did this dirtytrick!"

"Quite possible, " said Psyekoff. 

"And who is Nicholas?"

"The master's valet, your worship, " answered Ephraim. "Who else could itbe? He's a rascal, your worship! He's a drunkard and a blackguard, thelike of which Heaven should not permit! He always took the master hisvodka and put the master to bed. Who else could it be? And I alsoventure to point out to your worship, he once boasted at the publichouse that he would kill the master! It happened on account of Aquilina, the woman, you know. He was making up to a soldier's widow. She pleasedthe master; the master made friends with her himself, andNicholas--naturally, he was mad! He is rolling about drunk in thekitchen now. He is crying, and telling lies, saying he is sorry for themaster--"

The examining magistrate ordered Nicholas to be brought. Nicholas, alanky young fellow, with a long, freckled nose, narrow-chested, andwearing an old jacket of his master's, entered Psyekoff's room, andbowed low before the magistrate. His face was sleepy and tear-stained. He was tipsy and could hardly keep his feet. 

"Where is your master?" Chubikoff asked him. 

"Murdered! your worship!"

As he said this, Nicholas blinked and began to weep. 

"We know he was murdered. But where is he now? Where is his body?"

"They say he was dragged out of the window and buried in the garden!"

"Hum! The results of the investigation are known in the kitchenalready!--That's bad! Where were you, my good fellow, the night themaster was murdered? Saturday night, that is. "

Nicholas raised his head, stretched his neck, and began to think. 

"I don't know, your worship, " he said. "I was drunk and don't remember. "

"An alibi!" whispered Dukovski, smiling, and rubbing his hands. 

"So-o! And why is there blood under the master's window?"

Nicholas jerked his head up and considered. 

"Hurry up!" said the Captain of Police. 

"Right away! That blood doesn't amount to anything, your worship! I wascutting a chicken's throat. I was doing it quite simply, in the usualway, when all of a sudden it broke away and started to run. That iswhere the blood came from. "

Ephraim declared that Nicholas did kill a chicken every evening, andalways in some new place, but that nobody ever heard of a half-killedchicken running about the garden, though of course it wasn't impossible. 

"An alibi, " sneered Dukovski; "and what an asinine alibi!"

"Did you know Aquilina?"

"Yes, your worship, I know her. "

"And the master cut you out with her?"

"Not at all. _He_ cut me out--Mr. Psyekoff there, Ivan Mikhailovitch;and the master cut Ivan Mikhailovitch out. That is how it was. "

Psyekoff grew confused and began to scratch his left eye. Dukovskilooked at him attentively, noted his confusion, and started. He noticedthat the director had dark blue trousers, which he had not observedbefore. The trousers reminded him of the dark blue threads found on theburdock. Chubikoff in his turn glanced suspiciously at Psyekoff. 

"Go!" he said to Nicholas. "And now permit me to put a question to you, Mr. Psyekoff. Of course you were here last Saturday evening?"

"Yes! I had supper with Marcus Ivanovitch about ten o'clock. "

"And afterward?"

"Afterward--afterward--Really, I do not remember, " stammered Psyekoff. "I had a good deal to drink at supper. I don't remember when or where Iwent to sleep. Why are you all looking at me like that, as if I was themurderer?"

"Where were you when you woke up?"

"I was in the servants' kitchen, lying behind the stove! They can allconfirm it. How I got behind the stove I don't know--"

"Do not get agitated. Did you know Aquilina?"

"There's nothing extraordinary about that--"

"She first liked you and then preferred Klausoff?"

"Yes. Ephraim, give us some more mushrooms! Do you want some more tea, Eugraph Kuzmitch?"

A heavy, oppressive silence began and lasted fully five minutes. Dukovski silently kept his piercing eyes fixed on Psyekoff's pale face. The silence was finally broken by the examining magistrate:

"We must go to the house and talk with Maria Ivanovna, the sister of thedeceased. Perhaps she may be able to supply some clews. "

Chubikoff and his assistant expressed their thanks for the breakfast, and went toward the house. They found Klausoff's sister, Maria Ivanovna, an old maid of forty-five, at prayer before the big case of familyicons. When she saw the portfolios in her guests' hands, and theirofficial caps, she grew pale. 

"Let me begin by apologizing for disturbing, so to speak, yourdevotions, " began the gallant Chubikoff, bowing and scraping. "We havecome to you with a request. Of course, you have heard already. There isa suspicion that your dear brother, in some way or other, has beenmurdered. The will of God, you know. No one can escape death, neitherczar nor ploughman. Could you not help us with some clew, someexplanation--?"

"Oh, don't ask me!" said Maria Ivanovna, growing still paler, andcovering her face with her hands. "I can tell you nothing. Nothing! Ibeg you! I know nothing--What can I do? Oh, no! no!--not a word about mybrother! If I die, I won't say anything!"

Maria Ivanovna began to weep, and left the room. The investigatorslooked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and beat a retreat. 

"Confound the woman!" scolded Dukovski, going out of the house. "It isclear she knows something, and is concealing it! And the chambermaidhas a queer expression too! Wait, you wretches! We'll ferret it allout!"

In the evening Chubikoff and his deputy, lit on their road by the palemoon, wended their way homeward. They sat in their carriage and thoughtover the results of the day. Both were tired and kept silent. Chubikoffwas always unwilling to talk while travelling, and the talkativeDukovski remained silent, to fall in with the elder man's humour. But atthe end of their journey the deputy could hold in no longer, and said:

"It is quite certain, " he said, "that Nicholas had something to do withthe matter. _Non dubitandum est!_ You can see by his face what sort of acase he is! His alibi betrays him, body and bones. But it is alsocertain that he did not set the thing going. He was only the stupidhired tool. You agree? And the humble Psyekoff was not without someslight share in the matter. His dark blue breeches, his agitation, hislying behind the stove in terror after the murder, his alibiand--Aquilina--"

"'Grind away, Emilian; it's your week!' So, according to you, whoeverknew Aquilina is the murderer! Hothead! You ought to be sucking abottle, and not handling affairs! You were one of Aquilina's admirersyourself--does it follow that you are implicated too?"

"Aquilina was cook in your house for a month. I am saying nothing aboutthat! The night before that Saturday I was playing cards with you, andsaw you, otherwise I should be after you too! It isn't the woman thatmatters, old chap! It is the mean, nasty, low spirit of jealousy thatmatters. The retiring young man was not pleased when they got the betterof him, you see! His vanity, don't you see? He wanted revenge. Then, those thick lips of his suggest passion. So there you have it: woundedself-love and passion. That is quite enough motive for a murder. We havetwo of them in our hands; but who is the third? Nicholas and Psyekoffheld him, but who smothered him? Psyekoff is shy, timid, an all-roundcoward. And Nicholas would not know how to smother with a pillow. Hissort use an axe or a club. Some third person did the smothering; but whowas it?"

Dukovski crammed his hat down over his eyes and pondered. He remainedsilent until the carriage rolled up to the magistrate's door. 

"Eureka!" he said, entering the little house and throwing off hisovercoat. "Eureka, Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! The only thing I can'tunderstand is, how it did not occur to me sooner! Do you know who thethird person was?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, shut up! There is supper! Sit down to yourevening meal!"

The magistrate and Dukovski sat down to supper. Dukovski poured himselfout a glass of vodka, rose, drew himself up, and said, with sparklingeyes:

"Well, learn that the third person, who acted in concert with thatscoundrel Psyekoff, and did the smothering, was a woman! Yes-s! Imean--the murdered man's sister, Maria Ivanovna!"

Chubikoff choked over his vodka, and fixed his eyes on Dukovski. 

"You aren't--what's-its-name? Your head isn't what-do-you-call-it? Youhaven't a pain in it?"

"I am perfectly well! Very well, let us say that I am crazy; but how doyou explain her confusion when we appeared? How do you explain herunwillingness to give us any information? Let us admit that these aretrifles. Very well! All right! But remember their relations. Shedetested her brother. She never forgave him for living apart from hiswife. She of the Old Faith, while in her eyes he is a godlessprofligate. There is where the germ of her hate was hatched. They say hesucceeded in making her believe that he was an angel of Satan. He evenwent in for spiritualism in her presence!"

"Well, what of that?"

"You don't understand? She, as a member of the Old Faith, murdered himthrough fanaticism. It was not only that she was putting to death aweed, a profligate--she was freeing the world of an anti-christ!--andthere, in her opinion, was her service, her religious achievement! Oh, you don't know those old maids of the Old Faith. Read Dostoyevsky! Andwhat does Lyeskoff say about them, or Petcherski? It was she, and nobodyelse, even if you cut me open. She smothered him! O treacherous woman!wasn't that the reason why she was kneeling before the icons, when wecame in, just to take our attention away? 'Let me kneel down and pray, 'she said to herself, 'and they will think I am tranquil and did notexpect them!' That is the plan of all novices in crime, NicholasYermolaïyevitch, old pal! My dear old man, won't you intrust thisbusiness to me? Let me personally bring it through! Friend, I began itand I will finish it!"

Chubikoff shook his head and frowned. 

"We know how to manage difficult matters ourselves, " he said; "and yourbusiness is not to push yourself in where you don't belong. Write fromdictation when you are dictated to; that is your job!"

Dukovski flared up, banged the door, and disappeared. 

"Clever rascal!" muttered Chubikoff, glancing after him. "Awfullyclever! But too much of a hothead. I must buy him a cigar case at thefair as a present. "

The next day, early in the morning, a young man with a big head and apursed-up mouth, who came from Klausoff's place, was introduced to themagistrate's office. He said he was the shepherd Daniel, and brought avery interesting piece of information. 

"I was a bit drunk, " he said. "I was with my pal till midnight. On myway home, as I was drunk, I went into the river for a bath. I was takinga bath, when I looked up. Two men were walking along the dam, carryingsomething black. 'Shoo!' I cried at them. They got scared, and went offlike the wind toward Makareff's cabbage garden. Strike me dead, if theyweren't carrying away the master!"

That same day, toward evening, Psyekoff and Nicholas were arrested andbrought under guard to the district town. In the town they werecommitted to the cells of the prison. 

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote E: Reprinted by permission of the Review of Reviews Co. ]

II

A fortnight passed. 

It was morning. The magistrate Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch was sitting inhis office before a green table, turning over the papers of the"Klausoff case"; Dukovski was striding restlessly up and down like awolf in a cage. 

"You are convinced of the guilt of Nicholas and Psyekoff, " he said, nervously plucking at his young beard. "Why will you not believe in theguilt of Maria Ivanovna? Are there not proofs enough for you?"

"I don't say I am not convinced. I am convinced, but somehow I don'tbelieve it! There are no real proofs, but just a kind ofphilosophizing--fanaticism, this and that--"

"You can't do without an axe and bloodstained sheets. Those jurists!Very well, I'll prove it to you! You will stop sneering at thepsychological side of the affair! To Siberia with your Maria Ivanovna!I will prove it! If philosophy is not enough for you, I have somethingsubstantial for you. It will show you how correct my philosophy is. Justgive me permission--"

"What are you going on about?"

"About the safety match! Have you forgotten it? I haven't! I am going tofind out who struck it in the murdered man's room. It was not Nicholasthat struck it; it was not Psyekoff, for neither of them had any matcheswhen they were examined; it was the third person, Maria Ivanovna. I willprove it to you. Just give me permission to go through the district tofind out. "

"That's enough! Sit down. Let us go on with the examination. "

Dukovski sat down at a little table, and plunged his long nose in abundle of papers. 

"Bring in Nicholas Tetekhoff!" cried the examining magistrate. 

They brought Nicholas in. Nicholas was pale and thin as a rail. He wastrembling. 

"Tetekhoff!" began Chubikoff. "In 1879 you were tried in the Court ofthe First Division, convicted of theft, and sentenced to imprisonment. In 1882 you were tried a second time for theft, and were againimprisoned. We know all--"

Astonishment was depicted on Nicholas's face. The examining magistrate'somniscience startled him. But soon his expression of astonishmentchanged to extreme indignation. He began to cry and requestedpermission to go and wash his face and quiet down. They led him away. 

"Bring in Psyekoff!" ordered the examining magistrate. 

They brought in Psyekoff. The young man had changed greatly during thelast few days. He had grown thin and pale, and looked haggard. His eyeshad an apathetic expression. 

"Sit down, Psyekoff, " said Chubikoff. "I hope that to-day you are goingto be reasonable, and will not tell lies, as you did before. All thesedays you have denied that you had anything to do with the murder ofKlausoff, in spite of all the proofs that testify against you. That isfoolish. Confession will lighten your guilt. This is the last time I amgoing to talk to you. If you do not confess to-day, to-morrow it will betoo late. Come, tell me all--"

"I know nothing about it. I know nothing about your proofs, " answeredPsyekoff, almost inaudibly. 

"It's no use! Well, let me relate to you how the matter took place. OnSaturday evening you were sitting in Klausoff's sleeping room, anddrinking vodka and beer with him. " (Dukovski fixed his eyes onPsyekoff's face, and kept them there all through the examination. )"Nicholas was waiting on you. At one o'clock, Marcus Ivanovitchannounced his intention of going to bed. He always went to bed at oneo'clock. When he was taking off his boots, and was giving you directionsabout details of management, you and Nicholas, at a given signal, seized your drunken master and threw him on the bed. One of you sat onhis legs, the other on his head. Then a third person came in from thepassage--a woman in a black dress, whom you know well, and who hadpreviously arranged with you as to her share in your criminal deed. Sheseized a pillow and began to smother him. While the struggle was goingon the candle went out. The woman took a box of safety matches from herpocket, and lit the candle. Was it not so? I see by your face that I amspeaking the truth. But to go on. After you had smothered him, and sawthat he had ceased breathing, you and Nicholas pulled him out throughthe window and laid him down near the burdock. Fearing that he mightcome round again, you struck him with something sharp. Then you carriedhim away, and laid him down under a lilac bush for a short time. Afterresting awhile and considering, you carried him across the fence. Thenyou entered the road. After that comes the dam. Near the dam, a peasantfrightened you. Well, what is the matter with you?"

"I am suffocating!" replied Psyekoff. "Very well--have it so. Only letme go out, please!"

They led Psyekoff away. 

"At last! He has confessed!" cried Chubikoff, stretching himselfluxuriously. "He has betrayed himself! And didn't I get round himcleverly! Regularly caught him napping--"

"And he doesn't deny the woman in the black dress!" exulted Dukovski. "But all the same, that safety match is tormenting me frightfully. Ican't stand it any longer. Good-bye! I am off!"

Dukovski put on his cap and drove off. Chubikoff began to examineAquilina. Aquilina declared that she knew nothing whatever about it. 

At six that evening Dukovski returned. He was more agitated than he hadever been before. His hands trembled so that he could not even unbuttonhis greatcoat. His cheeks glowed. It was clear that he did not comeempty-handed. 

"_Veni, vidi, vici!_" he cried, rushing into Chubikoff's room, andfalling into an armchair. "I swear to you on my honour, I begin tobelieve that I am a genius! Listen, devil take us all! It is funny, andit is sad. We have caught three already--isn't that so? Well, I havefound the fourth, and a woman at that. You will never believe who it is!But listen. I went to Klausoff's village, and began to make a spiralround it. I visited all the little shops, public houses, dram shops onthe road, everywhere asking for safety matches. Everywhere they saidthey hadn't any. I made a wide round. Twenty times I lost faith, andtwenty times I got it back again. I knocked about the whole day, andonly an hour ago I got on the track. Three versts from here. They gaveme a packet of ten boxes. One box was missing. Immediately: 'Who boughtthe other box?' 'Such-a-one! She was pleased with them!' Old man!Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! See what a fellow who was expelled from theseminary and who has read Gaboriau can do! From to-day on I begin torespect myself! Oof! Well, come!"

"Come where?"

"To her, to number four! We must hurry, otherwise--otherwise I'll burstwith impatience! Do you know who she is? You'll never guess! OlgaPetrovna, Marcus Ivanovitch's wife--his own wife--that's who it is! Sheis the person who bought the matchbox!"

"You--you--you are out of your mind!"

"It's quite simple! To begin with, she smokes. Secondly, she was headand ears in love with Klausoff, even after he refused to live in thesame house with her, because she was always scolding his head off. Why, they say she used to beat him because she loved him so much. And then hepositively refused to stay in the same house. Love turned sour. 'Hellhath no fury like a woman scorned. ' But come along! Quick, or it will bedark. Come!"

"I am not yet sufficiently crazy to go and disturb a respectablehonourable woman in the middle of the night for a crazy boy!"

"Respectable, honourable! Do honourable women murder their husbands?After that you are a rag, and not an examining magistrate! I neverventured to call you names before, but now you compel me to. Rag!Dressing-gown!--Dear Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch, do come, I beg ofyou--!"

The magistrate made a deprecating motion with his hand. 

"I beg of you! I ask, not for myself, but in the interests of justice. Ibeg you! I implore you! Do what I ask you to, just this once!"

Dukovski went down on his knees. 

"Nicholas Yermolaïyevitch! Be kind! Call me a blackguard, ane'er-do-weel, if I am mistaken about this woman. You see what an affairit is. What a case it is. A romance! A woman murdering her own husbandfor love! The fame of it will go all over Russia. They will make youinvestigator in all important cases. Understand, O foolish old man!"

The magistrate frowned, and undecidedly stretched his hand toward hiscap. 

"Oh, the devil take you!" he said. "Let us go!"

It was dark when the magistrate's carriage rolled up to the porch of theold country house in which Olga Petrovna had taken refuge with herbrother. 

"What pigs we are, " said Chubikoff, taking hold of the bell, "to disturba poor woman like this!"

"It's all right! It's all right! Don't get frightened! We can say thatwe have broken a spring. "

Chubikoff and Dukovski were met at the threshold by a tall buxom womanof three and twenty, with pitch-black brows and juicy red lips. It wasOlga Petrovna herself, apparently not the least distressed by the recenttragedy. 

"Oh, what a pleasant surprise!" she said, smiling broadly. "You are justin time for supper. Kuzma Petrovitch is not at home. He is visiting thepriest, and has stayed late. But we'll get on without him! Be seated. You have come from the examination?"

"Yes. We broke a spring, you know, " began Chubikoff, entering thesitting room and sinking into an armchair. 

"Take her unawares--at once!" whispered Dukovski; "take her unawares!"

"A spring--hum--yes--so we came in. "

"Take her unawares, I tell you! She will guess what the matter is if youdrag things out like that. "

"Well, do it yourself as you want. But let me get out of it, " mutteredChubikoff, rising and going to the window. 

"Yes, a spring, " began Dukovski, going close to Olga Petrovna andwrinkling his long nose. "We did not drive over here--to take supperwith you or--to see Kuzma Petrovitch. We came here to ask you, respectedmadam, where Marcus Ivanovitch is, whom you murdered!"

"What? Marcus Ivanovitch murdered?" stammered Olga Petrovna, and herbroad face suddenly and instantaneously flushed bright scarlet. "Idon't--understand!"

"I ask you in the name of the law! Where is Klausoff? We know all!"

"Who told you?" Olga Petrovna asked in a low voice, unable to endureDukovski's glance. 

"Be so good as to show us where he is!"

"But how did you find out? Who told you?"

"We know all! I demand it in the name of the law!"

The examining magistrate, emboldened by her confusion, came forward andsaid:

"Show us, and we will go away. Otherwise, we--"

"What do you want with him?"

"Madam, what is the use of these questions? We ask you to show us! Youtremble, you are agitated. Yes, he has been murdered, and, if you musthave it, murdered by you! Your accomplices have betrayed you!"

Olga Petrovna grew pale. 

"Come!" she said in a low voice, wringing her hands. 

"I have him--hid--in the bath house! Only for heaven's sake, do not tellKuzma Petrovitch. I beg and implore you! He will never forgive me!"

Olga Petrovna took down a big key from the wall, and led her gueststhrough the kitchen and passage to the courtyard. The courtyard was indarkness. Fine rain was falling. Olga Petrovna walked in advance ofthem. Chubikoff and Dukovski strode behind her through the long grass, as the odour of wild hemp and dishwater splashing under their feetreached them. The courtyard was wide. Soon the dishwater ceased, andthey felt freshly broken earth under their feet. In the darknessappeared the shadowy outlines of trees, and among the trees a littlehouse with a crooked chimney. 

"That is the bath house, " said Olga Petrovna. "But I implore you, do nottell my brother! If you do, I'll never hear the end of it!"

Going up to the bath house, Chubikoff and Dukovski saw a huge padlock onthe door. 

"Get your candle and matches ready, " whispered the examining magistrateto his deputy. 

Olga Petrovna unfastened the padlock, and let her guests into the bathhouse. Dukovski struck a match and lit up the anteroom. In the middle ofthe anteroom stood a table. On the table, beside a sturdy littlesamovar, stood a soup tureen with cold cabbage soup and a plate with theremnants of some sauce. 

"Forward!"

They went into the next room, where the bath was. There was a tablethere also. On the table was a dish with some ham, a bottle of vodka, plates, knives, forks. 

"But where is it--where is the murdered man?" asked the examiningmagistrate. 

"On the top tier, " whispered Olga Petrovna, still pale and trembling. 

Dukovski took the candle in his hand and climbed up to the top tier ofthe sweating frame. There he saw a long human body lying motionless on alarge feather bed. A slight snore came from the body. 

"You are making fun of us, devil take it!" cried Dukovski. "That is notthe murdered man! Some live fool is lying here. Here, whoever you are, the devil take you!"

The body drew in a quick breath and stirred. Dukovski stuck his elbowinto it. It raised a hand, stretched itself, and lifted its head. 

"Who is sneaking in here?" asked a hoarse, heavy bass. "What do youwant?"

Dukovski raised the candle to the face of the unknown, and cried out. Inthe red nose, dishevelled, unkempt hair, the pitch-black moustache, oneof which was jauntily twisted and pointed insolently toward the ceiling, he recognized the gallant cavalryman Klausoff. 

"You--Marcus--Ivanovitch? Is it possible?"

The examining magistrate glanced sharply up at him, and stoodspellbound. 

"Yes, it is I. That's you, Dukovski? What the devil do you want here?And who's that other mug down there? Great snakes! It is the examiningmagistrate! What fate has brought him here?"

Klausoff rushed down and threw his arms round Chubikoff in a cordialembrace. Olga Petrovna slipped through the door. 

"How did you come here? Let's have a drink, devil take it!Tra-ta-ti-to-tum--let us drink! But who brought you here? How did youfind out that I was here? But it doesn't matter! Let's have a drink!"

Klausoff lit the lamp and poured out three glasses of vodka. 

"That is--I don't understand you, " said the examining magistrate, running his hands over him. "Is this you or not you!"

"Oh, shut up! You want to preach me a sermon? Don't trouble yourself!Young Dukovski, empty your glass! Friends, let us bring this--What areyou looking at? Drink!"

"All the same, I do not understand!" said the examining magistrate, mechanically drinking off the vodka. "What are you here for?"

"Why shouldn't I be here, if I am all right here?"

Klausoff drained his glass and took a bite of ham. 

"I am in captivity here, as you see. In solitude, in a cavern, like aghost or a bogey. Drink! She carried me off and locked me up, and--well, I am living here, in the deserted bath house, like a hermit. I am fed. Next week I think I'll try to get out. I'm tired of it here!"

"Incomprehensible!" said Dukovski. 

"What is incomprehensible about it?"

"Incomprehensible! For Heaven's sake, how did your boot get into thegarden?"

"What boot?"

"We found one boot in the sleeping room and the other in the garden. "

"And what do you want to know that for? It's none of your business! Whydon't you drink, devil take you? If you wakened me, then drink with me!It is an interesting tale, brother, that of the boot! I didn't want togo with Olga. I don't like to be bossed. She came under the window andbegan to abuse me. She always was a termagant. You know what women arelike, all of them. I was a bit drunk, so I took a boot and heaved it ather. Ha-ha-ha! Teach her not to scold another time! But it didn't! Not abit of it! She climbed in at the window, lit the lamp, and began tohammer poor tipsy me. She thrashed me, dragged me over here, and lockedme in. She feeds me now--on love, vodka, and ham! But where are you offto, Chubikoff? Where are you going?"

The examining magistrate swore, and left the bath house. Dukovskifollowed him, crestfallen. They silently took their seats in thecarriage and drove off. The road never seemed to them so long anddisagreeable as it did that time. Both remained silent. Chubikofftrembled with rage all the way. Dukovski hid his nose in the collar ofhis overcoat, as if he was afraid that the darkness and the drizzlingrain might read the shame in his face. 

When they reached home, the examining magistrate found Dr. Tyutyeffawaiting him. The doctor was sitting at the table, and, sighing deeply, was turning over the pages of the _Neva_. 

"Such goings on there are in the world!" he said, meeting the examiningmagistrate with a sad smile. "Austria is at it again! And Gladstone alsoto some extent--"

Chubikoff threw his cap under the table, and shook himself. 

"Devils' skeletons! Don't plague me! A thousand times I have told younot to bother me with your politics! This is no question of politics!And you, " said Chubikoff, turning to Dukovski and shaking his fist, "Iwon't forget this in a thousand years!"

"But the safety match? How could I know?"

"Choke yourself with your safety match! Get out of my way! Don't make memad, or the devil only knows what I'll do to you! Don't let me see atrace of you!"

Dukovski sighed, took his hat, and went out. 

"I'll go and get drunk, " he decided, going through the door, andgloomily wending his way to the public house. 

VIII

SOME SCOTLAND YARD STORIES[F]

SIR ROBERT ANDERSON

When I took charge of the Criminal Investigation Department I was nonovice in matters relating to criminals and crime. In addition toexperience gained at the Bar and on the Prison Commission, secret-service work had kept me in close touch with "Scotland Yard" fortwenty years, and during all that time I had the confidence, not only ofthe chiefs, but of the principal officers of the detective force. I thusentered on my duties with very exceptional advantages. 

I was not a little surprised, therefore, to find occasion to suspectthat one of my principal subordinates was trying to impose on me asthough I were an ignoramus. For when any important crime of a certainkind occurred, and I set myself to investigate it _à la_ SherlockHolmes, he used to listen to me in the way that so many people listen tosermons in church; and when I was done he would stolidly announce thatthe crime was the work of A, B, C, or D, naming some of his stockheroes. Though a keen and shrewd police officer, the man wasunimaginative, and I thus accounted for the fact that his list wasalways brief, and that the same names came up repeatedly. It was "OldCarr, " or "Wirth, " or "Sausage, " or "Shrimps, " or "Quiet Joe, " or "RedBob, " etc. , etc. , one name or another being put forward according to thekind of crime I was investigating. 

It was easy to test my prosaic subordinate's statements by methods withwhich I was familiar in secret-service work; and I soon found that hewas generally right. Great crimes are the work of great criminals, andgreat criminals are very few. And by "great crimes" I mean, not crimesthat loom large in the public view because of their moral heinousness, but crimes that are the work of skilled and resourceful criminals. Theproblem in such cases is not to find the offender in a population ofmany millions, but to pick him out from among a few definitely known"specialists" in the particular sort of crime under investigation. 

A volume might be filled with cases to illustrate my meaning; but a veryfew must here suffice. It fell upon a day, for example, that a "ladderlarceny" was committed at a country house in Cheshire. It was the usualstory. While the family were at dinner, the house was entered by meansof a ladder placed against a bedroom window, all outer doors andground-floor windows having been fastened from outside by screws or wireor rope; and wires were stretched across the lawn to baffle pursuit incase the thieves were discovered. The next day the Chief Constable ofthe county called on me; for, as he said, such a crime was beyond thecapacity of provincial practitioners, and he expected us to find thedelinquents among our pets at Scotland Yard. He gave me a vaguedescription of two strangers who had been seen near the house the daybefore, and in return I gave him three photographs. Two of these werepromptly identified as the men who had come under observation. Arrestand conviction followed, and the criminals received "a punishment suitedto their sin. " One of them was "Quiet Joe"; the other, his special"pal. "

Their sentences expired about the time of my retirement from office, andthus my official acquaintance with them came to an end. But in thenewspaper reports of a similar case the year after I left office, Irecognized my old friends. Rascals of this type are worth watching, andthe police had noticed that they were meeting at the Lambeth FreeLibrary, where their special study was provincial directories and booksof reference. They were tracked to a bookshop where they bought a map ofBristol, and to other shops where they procured the plant for a "ladderlarceny. " They then booked for Bristol and there took observations ofthe suburban house they had fixed upon. At this stage the localdetectives, to whom of course the metropolitan officers were bound togive the case, declared themselves and seized the criminals; and thecase was disposed of by a nine months' sentence on a minor issue. 

Most people can be wise after the event, but even that sort of belatedwisdom seems lacking to the legislature and the law. If on the occasionof their previous conviction, these men had been asked what they woulddo on the termination of their sentence, they would have answered, "Why, go back to business, of course; what else?" And at Bristol they wouldhave replied with equal frankness. On that occasion they openlyexpressed their gratification that the officers did not wait to "catchthem fair on the job, as another long stretch would about finishthem"--a playful allusion to the fact that, as they were both in theirseventh decade, another penal servitude sentence would have seen the endof them; whereas their return to the practice of their calling was onlydeferred for a few months. Meanwhile they would live without expense, and a paternal government would take care that the money found in theirpockets on their arrest would be restored to them on their release, toenable them to buy more jimmies and wire and screws, so that no timewould be lost in getting to work. Such is our "punishment-of-crime"system!

"Quiet Joe" made a good income by the practice of his profession; but hewas a thriftless fellow who spent his earnings freely, and never paidincome tax. "Old Carr" was of a different type. The man never did anhonest day's work in his life. He was a thief, a financier and trainerof thieves, and a notorious receiver of stolen property. But though hiswealth was ill-gotten, he knew how to hoard it. Upon his last convictionI was appointed statutory "administrator" of his estate. I soondiscovered that he owned a good deal of valuable house property. Butthis I declined to deal with, and took charge only of his portablesecurities for money. The value of this part of his estate may beestimated by the fact that on his discharge he brought an action againstme for mal-administration of it, claiming £5000 damages, and submittingdetailed accounts in support of his claim. Mr. Augustine Birrell was myleading counsel in the suit; and I may add that though the old rascalcarried his case to the Court of Appeal he did not get his £5000. 

The man lived in crime and by crime; and old though he was (he was bornin 1828), and "rolling in wealth, " he at once "resumed the practice ofhis profession. " He was arrested abroad this year during a trip taken todispose of some stolen notes, the proceeds of a Liverpool crime, and hisevil life came to an end in a foreign prison. 

When I refused to deal with Carr's house property I allowed him tonominate a friend to take charge of it, and he nominated a brotherprofessional, a man of the same kidney as himself, known in policecircles as "Sausage. " A couple of years later, however, I learned fromthe tenants that the agent had disappeared, and that their cheques forrent had been returned to them. I knew what that meant, and at onceinstituted inquiries to find the man, first in the metropolis and thenthroughout the provinces; but my inquiries were fruitless. I learned, however, that, when last at Scotland Yard, the man had said withemphasis that "he would never again do anything at home. " This was inanswer to a warning and an appeal; a warning that he would get no mercyif again brought to justice, and an appeal to change his ways, as he hadmade his pile and could afford to live in luxurious idleness. With thisclue to guide me, I soon learned that the man's insatiable zest forcrime had led him to cross the Channel in hope of finding a safer sphereof work, and that he was serving a sentence in a French prison. 

No words, surely, can be needed to point the moral of cases such asthese. The criminals who keep society in a state of siege are as strongas they are clever. If the risk of a few years' penal servitude onconviction gave place to the certainty of final loss of liberty, theseprofessionals would put up with the tedium of an honest life. Lombrosotheories have no application to such men. Benson, of the famous "Bensonand Kerr frauds, " was the son of an English clergyman. He was a man ofreal ability, of rare charms of manner and address, and an accomplishedlinguist. Upon the occasion of one of Madame Patti's visits to Americahe ingratiated himself with the customs officers at New York, and thusgot on board the liner before the arrival of the "Reception Committee. "He was of course a stranger to the great singer, but she was naturallycharmed by his appearance and bearing, and the perfection of hisItalian, and she had no reason to doubt that he had been commissionedfor the part he played so acceptably. And when the Reception Committeearrived they assumed that he was a friend of Madame Patti's. Upon hisarm it was, therefore, that she leaned when disembarking. All this wasdone with a view to carry out a huge fraud, the detection of whicheventually brought him to ruin. The man was capable of filling anyposition; but the life of adventure and ease which a criminal careerprovided had a fascination for him. 

Facts like these failed to convince Dr. Max Nordau when he called uponme years ago. At his last visit I put his "type" theory to a test. I hadtwo photographs so covered that nothing showed but the face, and tellinghim that the one was an eminent public man and the other a notoriouscriminal, I challenged him to say which was the "type. " He shirked mychallenge. For as a matter of fact the criminal's face looked morebenevolent than the other, and it was certainly as "strong. " The one wasRaymond _alias_ Wirth--the most eminent of the criminal fraternity of mytime--and the other was Archbishop Temple. Need I add that my story isintended to discredit--not His Grace of Canterbury, but--the Lombroso"type" theory. 

Raymond, like Benson, had a respectable parentage. In early manhood hewas sentenced to a long term of imprisonment for a big crime committedin New York. But he escaped and came to England. His schemes wereNapoleonic. His most famous _coup_ was a great diamond robbery. Hiscupidity was excited by the accounts of the Kimberley mines. He sailedfor South Africa, visited the mines, accompanied a convoy of diamonds tothe coast, and investigated the whole problem on the spot. Dick Turpinwould have recruited a body of bushrangers and seized one of theconvoys. But the methods of the sportsmanlike criminal of our day arevery different. The arrival of the diamonds at the coast was timed tocatch the mail steamer for England; and if a convoy were accidentallydelayed _en route_, the treasure had to lie in the post office till thenext mail left. Raymond's plan of campaign was soon settled. He was aman who could make his way in any company, and he had no difficulty inobtaining wax impressions of the postmaster's keys. The postmaster, indeed, was one of a group of admiring friends whom he entertained atdinner the evening before he sailed for England. 

Some months later he returned to South Africa under a clever disguiseand an assumed name, and made his way up country to a place at which thediamond convoys had to cross a river ferry on their way to the coast. Unshipping the chain of the ferry, he let the boat drift down stream, and the next convoy missed the mail steamer. £90, 000 worth of diamondshad to be deposited in the strong room of the post office; and thosediamonds ultimately reached England in Raymond's possession. Heafterward boasted that he sold them to their lawful owners in HattonGarden. 

If I had ever possessed £90, 000 worth of anything, the government wouldhave had to find someone else to look after Fenians and burglars. ButRaymond loved his work for its own sake; and though he lived in luxuryand style, he kept to it to the last, organizing and financing many animportant crime. 

A friend of mine who has a large medical practice in one of the Londonsuburbs told me once of an extraordinary patient of his. The man was a_Dives_ and lived sumptuously, but he was extremely hypochondriacal. Every now and then an urgent summons would bring the doctor to thehouse, to find the patient in bed, though with nothing whatever thematter with him. But the man always insisted on having a prescription, which was promptly sent to the chemist. My friend's last summons hadbeen exceptionally urgent; and on his entering the room with unusualabruptness, the man sprang up in bed and covered him with a revolver! Imight have relieved his curiosity by explaining that this eccentricpatient was a prince among criminals. Raymond knew that his movementswere matter of interest to the police; and if he had reason to fearthat he had been seen in dangerous company, he bolted home and "shammedsick. " And the doctor's evidence, confirmed by the chemist's books, would prove that he was ill in bed till after the hour at which thepolice supposed they had seen him miles away. 

Raymond it was who stole the famous Gainsborough picture for which Mr. Agnew had recently paid the record price of £10, 000. I may here say thatthe owner acted very well in this matter. Though the picture was offeredhim more than once on tempting terms he refused to treat for it, savewith the sanction of the police. And it was not until I intimated to himthat he might deal with the thieves that he took steps for its recovery. 

The story of another crime will explain my action in this case. TheChannel gang of thieves mentioned on a previous page sometimes went forlarger game than purses and pocket-books. They occasionally robbed thetreasure chest of the mail steamer when a parcel of valuable securitieswas passing from London to Paris. Tidings reached me that they wereplanning a _coup_ of this kind upon a certain night, and I ascertainedby inquiry that a city insurance company meant to send a largeconsignment of bonds to Paris on the night in question. How the thievesgot the information is a mystery; their organization must have beenadmirable. But Scotland Yard was a match for them. I sent officers toDover and Calais to deal with the case, and the men were arrested onlanding at Calais. But they were taken empty-handed. A capricious orderof the railway company's marine superintendent at Dover had changed thesteamer that night an hour before the time of sailing; and while uponthe thieves was found a key for the treasure chest of the advertisedboat, they had none for the boat in which they had actually crossed. But, _mirabile dictu_, during the passage they had managed to get a waximpression of it! We also got hold of a cloak-room ticket for aportmanteau which was found to contain some £2000 worth of couponsstolen by the gang on a former trip. The men included in the "bag" were"Shrimps, " "Red Bob, " and an old sinner named Powell. But the criminallaw is skilfully framed in the interest of criminals, and it wasimpossible to make a case against them. I succeeded, however, by dint ofurgent appeals to the French authorities, in having them kept in gaolfor three months. 

And now for the point of my story. Powell had left a blank cheque withhis "wife, " to be used in case he came to grief; and on his return toEngland he found she had been false to him. She had drawn out all hismoney, and gone off with another man; and the poor old rascal died ofwant in the streets of Southampton. [G] He it was who was Raymond'saccomplice in stealing Mr. Agnew's picture, and with his death all hopeof a prosecution came to an end. 

If my purpose here were to amuse, I might fill many a page withnarratives of this kind. But my object is to expose the error and follyof our present system of dealing with crime. When a criminal courtclaims to anticipate the judgment of the Great Assize in the case of ahooligan convicted of some vulgar act of violence, the silliness andprofanity of the claim may pass unnoticed. But when the"punishment-of-crime" system is applied to criminals of the type heredescribed, the imbecility of it must be apparent to all. With such mencrime is "the business of their lives. " They delight in it. Their zestfor it never flags, even in old age. What leads men like Raymond or Carrto risk a sentence of penal servitude is not a sense of want--that is aforgotten memory. Nor is it even a craving for filthy lucre. Thecontrolling impulse is _a love of sport_, for every great criminal is athorough sportsman. And in the case of a man who is free from theweakness of having a conscience, it is not easy to estimate thefascination of a life of crime. Fancy the long-sustained excitement ofplanning and executing crimes like Raymond's. In comparison with suchsport, hunting wild game is work for savages; salmon-fishing andgrouse-shooting, for lunatics and idiots!

The theft of the Gold Cup at Ascot illustrates what I am saying here. The thieves arrived in motor cars; they were, we are told, "ofgentlemanly appearance, and immaculately dressed, " and they paid theirway into the grand stand. The list of criminals of that type is a shortone; and no one need suppose that such men would risk penal servitudefor the paltry sum the cup would fetch. A crime involving far less riskwould bring them ten times as much booty. For no winner of the cup everderived more pleasure from the possession of it than the thieves musthave experienced as they drove to London with the treasure under theseat of their motor car. For it was not the lust of filthy lucre, butthe love of sport that incited them to the venture. There are hundredsof our undergraduates who would eagerly emulate the feat, were they notdeterred by its dangers. And a rule of three sum may explain my proposalto put an end to such crimes. Let the consequences to the professionalcriminal be made equal to what imprisonment would mean to a "Varsity"man, and the thing is done. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote F: From "Criminals and Crime. "]

[Footnote G: "Shrimps" also found that his "wife" had proved unfaithful. He disappeared, and I heard that he had filled his pockets with stonesand thrown himself into the sea. Had the men been in an English gaolthey would have communicated with their friends; but in Boulogne prisonthey were absolutely buried, and their women gave them up. ]

 * * * * *

 END

 * * * * *

Transcriber's note

The following changes have been made to the text:

Page 37: "strychnin" changed to "strychnine". 

Page 91: "stared at me in asonishment" changed to "stared at me inastonishment". 

Page 145: "insteaded of hailed" changed to "instead of hailed". 

Page 194: "I I wonder" changed to "I wonder". 

Page 208: "Young Barrington" changed to "young Barrington". 

Page 220: "candy like a Kid" changed to "candy like a kid". 

Page 227: "smelt of ainseed" changed to "smelt of aniseed". 

Page 243: "Non dubitandum ets" changed to "Non dubitandum est". 

Page 261: "Scotland Yard Cases" changed to "Scotland Yard Stories" tomatch the Table of Contents.